Morning crept in on the heels of a gentle rain, the world outside washed clean and cool for once. I reached for Janus, but the space beside me was already cold, his warmth gone to the day before I could even open my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to stay tangled in the sheets, to let the hours gather dust around me, but today wasn’t meant for hiding. Today, Janus’ grandparents—now mine by marriage, though it still felt strange to think of it—were coming to visit. They wanted to see their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and most of all, to finally lay eyes on their daughter, Olivia, after so many years apart. Illness and distance had kept the family scattered, and though they used to visit when they could, their last journey had left them too frail to leave the capital again. The years had stretched thin between them, and now, at last, they could see each other again.
Alphonse and Viola von Ehrich arrived just as the sun reached its lazy peak, the air still heavy but kinder than yesterday’s heat. We gathered beneath the shade of the garden pavilion—Emma, the children, Madam Olivia, and me—waiting as Janus appeared, guiding his grandparents with gentle patience. They moved slowly, each leaning into Janus and their canes, their backs bowed by years and memories. Their hair matched mine in its snowy whiteness, but their eyes had faded to a cloudy gray, as if the world had grown too bright for them. Their faces were soft with age, skin folding in gentle waves, but their smiles shone through the aches in their knees and the tremble in their hands. I’d worried they might be stern, maybe even cold, but the way their faces lit up at the sight of Olivia, the way they hurried as much as their bodies allowed, swept away any fear I’d carried.
“Olivia dear, is that really you?”
“Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or have you gotten taller?”
Olivia barely had time to breathe before her mother wrapped her in a fierce embrace with newfound strength, clinging to her as if she might vanish again if she let go. Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent at first, then trembling into sobs.
“*whimper*Sorry, I- Im so sorry that we *sob*.”
“Please stop crying, mother; it's not your fault.”
“But it is. I swore to myself to go back to that cold and dreadful fortress as soon as I was better.*sob*”
“But that wasn't your fault, I...”
“I left my baby with that villain of a man, oh why didn't we give your hand to Sir Roderick instead."
The moment that name slipped into the air, something in Olivia’s face changed, and I felt it too—a hush settling over us, concern turning sharp at the edges. Viola, lost in her tears and her daughter’s arms, didn’t notice, but Alphonse’s eyes flickered, catching the change in the wind.
“Why have you all gotten so quiet? Has something happened to our boy Rodrick?”
“Well, he…
“Janus, let me explain.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
And with a heavy sigh, Olivia gently sat her parents down before telling them about Rodrick's betrayal and all his crimes. She even told them that he “tried” to kill Janus, of course never mentioning that he succeeded.
While the world seemed to tilt for my new grandparents, a bit further away, the children were lost in their own universe, tiny hands tugging clovers and weeds from the earth. Emma hovered nearby, shading them with a wide parasol, her laughter soft in the heavy air. Seraphina waged war on the weeds relentlessly while Alexander examined each leaf as if it might hold a secret. Teresa, determined as ever, tried to wriggle free from the headmaid’s watchful eye, crawling toward adventure beneath the dappled light.
Janus and I sat side by side, a quiet discomfort settling between us. I wondered why no one had told them sooner, but perhaps they didn't want to put so much strain on their old bodies.
At the end, both looked at Olivia as if they couldn't believe what they had just heard. Alphonse asked with shaky breath,
“Is this true, Janus? Did he really…?”
Janus just nodded, and I could see how much it hurt Alphonse as his face contorted and tears fell. Now he, too, was crying. Viola put her wrinkly hand on her husband's shaking fist and asked me,
“You are Ruby, right?”
“Yes, grandmother,” I answered, the word slipping out before I could catch it. It felt strangely natural, almost comforting. Something about this delicate old couple tugged at memories of my own grandparents, and I found I didn’t mind the ache it brought.
Hearing me call her grandmother made her smile a bit through the pain. She dried her tears with her handkerchief before giving it to her husband.
“Thank you for saving my daughter and grandson. *sob*”
She tried her best not to cry again but utterly failed. Only an hour later did they finally calm down again. Maybe we really shouldn't have told them all this on their first day back together with their long-gone daughter.
By then, the twins had grown restless, their patience for gardening spent, and now they squirmed in their great-grandparents’ arms, eager to escape the endless cuddles.
“Seraphina looks just like Olivia when she was that age.”
Alphonse said this while my boy Alexander, thoroughly unimpressed, wriggled in his lap.
“No, honey, that's the boy Alexander you are holding, right?”
Seraphina squirmed in Viola’s arms, protesting against the seasoned lady's relentless attempts to pinch her cheeks.
I rescued Seraphina from her great-grandmother’s lap just in time, scooping her up before she could make her daring escape.
“Yes, Janus picked their names.”
“Ahh, forgive me, my eyes really must have gone bad.”
Of course, I forgave him. If it weren’t for the endless diaper changes and the subtle difference in their eyes, I’d probably mix them up too.
The rest of the evening was spent discussing some official matters, like the fact that they apparently wanted to make Sera their heir.
“Are you sure you don't want to wait until Janus and I get another boy?”
The old couple just laughed, brushing off my worries, but I caught a flicker of sadness in Olivia’s eyes. I felt foolish for asking. They were so old now that funerals were the only reason they ever left the house. Time was running thin for them, and with Janus having spent so long as the family’s eternal bachelor, I could only imagine how long they’d waited for an heir. Janus, beside me, shifted awkwardly, as if the weight of all those expectations had suddenly settled on his shoulders.
Meanwhile, the future countess herself was perched on my lap, her tiny face scrunched up in fierce exertion. I knew that look all too well. Another diaper change was coming. Sigh.