Chapter 115
Ethan Blackwood was overcomplicating things. In truth, Isabella Sinclair hadn’t spared a single thought for him—or Sophia Kensington—since leaving the Blackwood estate.
Her destination was clear: the secluded mountaintop nursing home where Cassandra Kingsley resided. The winding road leading there was narrow, flanked by dense trees that cast long shadows as the sun dipped lower in the sky.
The facility was renowned for its serene environment and crisp, unpolluted air, a sanctuary for those seeking peace. But its entrance was heavily secured, and Isabella wasn’t sure she’d be granted access. Still, she intended to scout the area first.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as her gaze flickered to the silver mask resting on the passenger seat. A knot of unease coiled in her chest.
Before she could reach the summit, however, a lone figure stepped into the road.
Isabella slammed on the brakes, her pulse skyrocketing as the car screeched to a halt mere inches from the shadowy silhouette. Through the windshield, recognition flared in her eyes.
Cassandra.
She had memorized every detail of the Kingsley family, and there was no mistaking Cassandra’s delicate features. But something was off.
The older woman stood dazed, her words slurred, her gaze unfocused. She clutched a trowel in one hand and a wicker basket in the other, its contents brimming with freshly picked wildflowers. No caretakers were in sight—she had wandered off alone.
When Isabella called her name again, Cassandra blinked slowly, as if surfacing from a dream.
“Where am I?”
“You’re halfway up the mountain,” Isabella answered, stepping out of the car to steady her. Night was falling, and the terrain was treacherous—especially for someone in Cassandra’s fragile state.
“Let me take you back. It’s not safe here.”
“Back?” Cassandra tilted her head, childlike confusion coloring her voice. “And who are you? I don’t know you… do I? Why do you know my name?”
She clung to Isabella’s hand, brows knitting as she struggled to recall. Then, abruptly, she stilled. Her eyes widened, a flicker of clarity passing through them.
With sudden delight, she plucked a flower from her basket and tucked it behind Isabella’s ear.
“Oh! I know you!” Cassandra clapped her hands, beaming. “Lily, you look so pretty with a flower in your hair!”
Isabella froze.
Lily.
Her mother’s nickname—one only shared with those closest to her. The shock sent a tremor through her, but she schooled her expression, tightening her grip on the mask in her hand.
“You must be mistaken,” she said lightly, though her gaze sharpened. “What was Lily like? Maybe I can help you find her.”
Cassandra frowned, confusion clouding her features again. “I don’t know…” Then, with sudden excitement, she pointed at Isabella and giggled. “You’re lying! You’re Lily, aren’t you? I’ve made leis for you before!”
Emotion surged in Isabella’s chest, but she steadied herself, squeezing Cassandra’s hand gently.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s me.”
Cassandra’s words confirmed what she had begun to suspect—this woman had known her mother. Intimately. But she couldn’t push too hard, not when Cassandra was so vulnerable.
Carefully, she guided her into the car and fastened her seatbelt.
“When was the last time you saw me?” Isabella kept her voice soft, coaxing.
Cassandra only shook her head, frustration flickering across her face. “I don’t remember.”
The answer didn’t surprise Isabella, but it didn’t stop the dull ache spreading through her. Alzheimer’s had stolen so much from this woman.
Yet, beneath the sorrow, hope flickered.
Cassandra had known her mother. Their bond had been real. And now, Isabella had a new mission—to help bring her back, even if only for fleeting moments.
She glanced at the winding road ahead, then slipped on the silver mask.
“I’m taking you home now,” she said, her tone firm but gentle.
