Chapter 4

One afternoon, as the autumn sun bathed the mansion in a warm, golden light, Elara found herself alone in the garden. She had always loved the garden, with its winding paths and blooming flowers. It was a place where she could escape the noise and bustle of the household, a place where she could think and breathe.

She wandered among the rose bushes, her fingers brushing against the soft petals. The scent of the flowers filled the air, sweet and intoxicating. For a moment, Elara allowed herself to forget everything—to forget Cassia, to forget her fears and doubts. In the quiet solitude of the garden, she could almost pretend that she was the only one who mattered, that this life truly belonged to her.

But the sound of laughter shattered her fragile peace. Elara turned, her heart sinking as she saw Cassia running toward her, her golden hair streaming behind her like a banner. Mrs. Hawthorne was close behind, her face flushed with joy as she watched Cassia race through the garden.

“Elara!” Cassia called out, her voice bright and cheerful. “Come join us! We’re playing a game.”

Elara forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “What kind of game?” she asked, her voice betraying none of the turmoil inside her.

Cassia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “We’re pretending to be princesses! Mama says I can be the Queen of the Garden, and you can be my lady-in-waiting.”

Elara’s smile faltered. Lady-in-waiting. It was a role that suited her well, she supposed—always on the sidelines, always in the background. But the thought of it stung, a sharp reminder of her place in this new world.

Mrs. Hawthorne, noticing the hesitation in Elara’s expression, stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s just a game, darling,” she said softly. “We’re all just having fun.”

Elara nodded, though the knot in her chest tightened. “Of course,” she murmured. “I’ll play.”

Cassia beamed, her face alight with happiness. “Wonderful! Come on, let’s go to the rose arch—it’ll be our throne!”

Elara followed Cassia and Mrs. Hawthorne to the rose arch at the far end of the garden. It was a beautiful structure, draped in climbing roses that bloomed in shades of pink and red. Cassia took her place beneath the arch, her posture regal as she pretended to be the queen. Mrs. Hawthorne stood beside her, smiling indulgently as Cassia issued playful commands.

“And now, Lady Elara,” Cassia said with a mock-serious tone, “you must bring me the finest flower in the garden as a tribute to your queen.”

Elara forced another smile, though it felt like a mask she couldn’t take off. She walked to one of the rose bushes and carefully selected a perfect bloom, its petals a deep, velvety red. She returned to Cassia and presented the flower with a small curtsey, playing her role as the dutiful lady-in-waiting.

Cassia accepted the flower with a gracious nod, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well done, Lady Elara,” she said with a hint of teasing. “You may be seated.”

Elara sat on the edge of the stone bench beside the rose arch, her hands folded in her lap. She watched as Cassia continued to play, her every movement full of grace and confidence. Mrs. Hawthorne looked on with pride, her smile never wavering.

For a moment, Elara felt a surge of bitterness rise within her. She wanted to be the one standing under the arch, the one receiving the praise and admiration. She wanted to be the one who mattered. But that was not her role, and she knew it.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the garden, Cassia finally declared the game over. She skipped back to the house, her laughter echoing in the evening air. Mrs. Hawthorne lingered for a moment, watching Elara with a concerned expression.

“Elara, darling,” she said gently, “I know it’s been an adjustment for you, having Cassia here. But please know that we love you just as much as we love her.”

Elara looked up at Mrs. Hawthorne, searching her eyes for the truth. She wanted to believe it—she wanted to believe that she was truly loved, that she had a place in this family. But the doubt still lingered, gnawing at her heart.

“I know,” Elara replied softly. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Hawthorne smiled and leaned down to kiss Elara’s forehead. “You’re a special girl, Elara. Never forget that.”

Elara watched as Mrs. Hawthorne walked back to the house, her heart heavy with unspoken words. She knew Mrs. Hawthorne meant well, but the reassurance did little to ease the ache in her chest. She felt like she was living in two worlds—one where she was the cherished daughter, and one where she was the forgotten orphan. And with each passing day, it became harder to reconcile the two.

That night, as Elara lay in bed, she thought about her life before the Hawthornes, about the cold, lonely nights in the orphanage, the other children who had come and gone, and the endless longing for something more. She had always dreamed of being found, of being loved. But now that she was here, living the life she had always wanted, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been wrong to hope.

The next morning, Elara awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the room. But the brightness of the day did little to lift the heaviness in her heart.

She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs, the familiar routine of breakfast offering some small comfort. The dining room was already bustling with activity. Cassia was seated at the table, chattering away as Mrs. Hawthorne poured her a glass of fresh orange juice. Mr. Hawthorne was reading the newspaper, a smile on his face as he listened to Cassia’s stories.

Elara slipped into her seat quietly, trying to make herself as small as possible. She reached for a piece of toast, spreading it with butter as she listened to the conversation around her.

“…and then I told the gardener that we should plant more roses, because they’re my favorite,” Cassia was saying, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “He said he’d see what he could do.”

“That sounds lovely, dear,” Mrs. Hawthorne replied, her voice full of warmth. “You have such a good eye for beauty.”

Elara glanced up at Cassia, noticing the way she basked in the praise. It was clear that Cassia was used to being the center of attention, used to having everything go her way. And why wouldn’t she be? She was everything the Hawthornes could have wanted in a daughter—beautiful, charming, and full of life.

Elara, on the other hand, felt like a ghost, drifting through the house without leaving a mark. No matter how hard she tried to fit in, she always felt like she was on the outside looking in, like she was intruding on something that wasn’t really hers.