She had known. The moment her son's voice, so full of contained joy, had formed the words "I saw her today," her entire world had re-centered. Nothing else had registered after that, not the talk of a husband, not the human circumstances, not the lingering mysteries.
Just those four, life-altering words: I saw her today.
Her daughter was alive. Was well. Was healthy, even.
The rest, the marriage, the human man, the stepchildren, the hows and whys, she could process later. It was a puzzle for another day. Right now, all that mattered was the profound, bone-deep relief flooding her veins, warming parts of her that had been numb for centuries.
Alive.
She let herself breathe, a deep, deliberate inhale that filled lungs which had felt shallow for years. It was the first real breath she'd taken in what felt like an eternity.
