Chapter Text
Six years was a long time to be haunted by someone. Enid Sinclair had eventually learned that much. In the beginning, she had thought six years sounded almost impossible. Six years was practically another lifetime when you were eighteen. It was longer than the entirety of some friendships, longer than any relationships she had seen around Nevermore, and long enough that she had once believed Wednesday would become nothing more than a strange and painful memory. At eighteen, six years seemed like enough time to become someone completely different. Enough time to forget the sound of a person's voice, the particular way they looked at you when they were trying not to smile, the rhythm of their footsteps approaching your bedroom door. Enough time, Enid had thought, to stop wondering why someone had left.
She had been wrong. The pain did change, though. That was the part nobody told you. Grief didn't just disappear. Sometimes it simply became quieter, less demanding, until you could carry it without noticing the weight. Enid had spent the first year after Wednesday vanished looking for answers. She had called numbers that no longer worked, sent letters to addresses that turned out to be useless, asked Morticia and Gomez questions they could not answer, and contacted people Wednesday had known before Nevermore. She had even tried finding information through some of Wednesday's literary contacts when trying to get her books published, only to discover that Wednesday had apparently become very good at disappearing when she wanted to. Every attempt ended the same way. Nothing. No address, no explanation, no message waiting for her, and no mysterious clue that would eventually lead her back to the Addams family.
There had only been Agnes. Somehow, through all the years and distance, their friendship had remained. Agnes had practically been adopted by the Addams family, though even that description failed to capture the strange place she occupied within the household. She had become family without anyone formally announcing it. Morticia adored her, Gomez treated her like another daughter, Pugsley occasionally sent her ridiculous messages, and even Grandmama had eventually accepted her presence as something inevitable. Agnes knew more about Wednesday than Enid did, or at least Enid had always suspected she did. Whenever Enid asked whether Agnes had heard from her, the answers were always vague enough to be technically truthful while still managing to leave Enid frustrated. Yes, she had heard from Wednesday. No, she couldn't say where she was. Yes, Wednesday was alive. No, she couldn't tell Enid anything else.
Eventually, Enid stopped asking.
It had not been easy. There had been a time when every unanswered question felt like an accusation. What had she done? Why had Wednesday left without telling her? Why had she not answered even one message? Why had she abandoned everyone? Most of all, why had she abandoned Enid? She had replayed their final months together so many times that individual memories became distorted from repetition. She remembered Wednesday becoming somehow even quieter. She remembered the strange distance between them. She remembered feeling as though she was constantly missing something. She remembered the day she had finally said goodbye, though at the time she had not understood that it was goodbye at all.
She had pulled her into an embrace. Her Wednesday. She remembered Wednesday's arms slowly closing around her. She remembered the kiss against the top of her head. Most of all, she remembered Wednesday saying, very quietly, “Goodbye, Enid.” At the time, Enid had laughed softly and told her she was being dramatic. They were graduating. That was what people did. They said goodbye before going to different universities and promised to visit each other and swore they would never lose touch. Enid had expected to spend the next four years hearing Wednesday complain about professors, classmates, and the general incompetence of humanity. She had expected photographs of strange manuscripts, sarcastic commentary about wherever she ended up, and perhaps the occasional postcard containing nothing but some obscure threat. She had expected Wednesday to remain in her life in whatever strange, unconventional way Wednesday Addams remained in anyone's life.
Instead, she disappeared.
Enid had broken over it. Not all at once, because that would have been easier. She had broken slowly, in pieces, while everyone around her assumed she was simply having trouble adjusting to college. She had cried in dorm bathrooms where nobody could hear her. She had slept with her phone beside her because she was convinced that one morning she would wake up to a message from Wednesday. She had spent months believing that if she could just understand what had happened, everything could be fixed. Eventually, though, life demanded that she keep living, and Enid had learned how to do it.
She graduated from NYU with a degree, a mountain of memories, several lifelong friendships, and an apartment in New York that was so unmistakably hers that nobody could have confused it for someone else's. She shares it with yoko and Divina, being roomates with a now married couple should have been odd yet, she had known them for so long, and seen so many things she shouldn't have, she found no problems with it. There were plants everywhere, photographs taped along the walls, brightly colored blankets, books stacked on every available surface, half-finished sewing projects spilling from baskets, and enough little decorative objects to make the place feel warm even during the grayest winter days. She had become more confident and more independent. She had learned how to navigate a city that once seemed enormous and frightening. She had made friends outside of Nevermore and discovered that she could build a life without constantly looking backward.
She had even fallen in love, or at least she had thought she had.
Axel had been a good man. That was perhaps the most difficult part to explain. If he had been cruel, selfish, dishonest, or careless, Enid could have hated him. If he had treated her badly, she could have walked away without looking back. Instead, Axel had been kind. He remembered small things. He listened when she spoke. He brought her food when she was studying late. He never mocked her for being emotional, never made her feel ridiculous for caring too much, and never treated her love for her friends as something childish. He was patient, gentle, and reliable. When Enid had needed someone to hold her together during those first years away from Nevermore, he had been there.
And that was precisely why she had chosen him. He was safe. She had met him Senior year shortly after returning from being stuck as a wolf. He had been with her for so long, through thick and thin.
After Wednesday disappeared, safe had seemed like the most wonderful thing in the world. Axel did not vanish. Axel did not leave without explanation. Axel did not look at Enid with those unreadable black eyes and make her wonder what he was thinking. He said what he meant. He answered his phone. He told her when he loved her. He kissed her when he wanted to kiss her and held her when she needed holding. He was uncomplicated in a way that Enid had once found deeply comforting.
The problem was that he never made her swoon. Not really. Enid had spent years trying to convince herself that this wasn't important. She told herself that relationships were not supposed to feel like fireworks every day, that stability mattered more than butterflies, and that perhaps what people called a spark was merely excitement that eventually faded anyway. Axel was good. Axel loved her. She loved him in her own way. Surely that was enough.
For most of college, she made it enough. They dated through freshman year, sophomore year, and most of junior year. They learned each other's habits, celebrated birthdays together, traveled together, met each other's friends, and eventually became comfortable enough that their relationship almost felt like another friendship. There were good days and genuinely happy memories. Enid never regretted them, and she still thought fondly of Axel and hoped he was happy. But somewhere along the way, both of them realized the truth. Their relationship had simply run its course. There had never really been anything wrong with it. There had simply never been enough.
Enid remembered sitting across from him in a little restaurant in Brooklyn when they finally talked about it. She had expected tears. Instead, there had been a strange sense of relief. Axel had looked at her for a long time before quietly admitting that he had known for months. Enid had laughed because she had known too. They had stayed together because neither wanted to hurt the other, and because ending something good felt almost cruel when there was no obvious reason for doing so. Eventually, they realized that not wanting to leave was not the same as wanting to stay.
So they had ended it.
There had been sadness, affection, and even a final hug, but there had not been heartbreak. That was how Enid knew the difference. When Wednesday had left, something inside her had felt torn out. When Axel left, something inside her simply became quiet. That distinction had taken her years to understand, but by twenty-four she had stopped feeling guilty about it. Even now after all this time, she had never gotten over Wednesday… that was the difference. Her wolf still whined internally during the day. And howled in pain when released on full moons. Desperate calling her pack back to her. But Wednesday never came. Her wolf never got over it…the longing for her pack. She herself didn't mind being single that much. She liked her independence. She liked her friends and her work and the freedom to spend an entire Saturday doing absolutely nothing if she wanted. She had no desire to rush into another relationship merely because everyone around her seemed to be settling down.
She was happy. Truly happy. At least, that was what she told herself.
The message from Agnes arrived on a Thursday afternoon while Enid was sitting at her desk, staring at a document she had been pretending to work on for nearly half an hour. Some new fluff pieces on Dior's new collection. Outside her apartment window, Manhattan moved with its usual restless energy. Cars crawled along the street below, pedestrians hurried beneath umbrellas, and somewhere in the distance a siren rose and disappeared between the buildings. Enid had one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee and the other resting against her cheek when her phone buzzed.
She glanced down and immediately smiled.
Agnes.
Unlike most people from Nevermore, Agnes had remained in her life without either of them having to force it. They could go months without seeing one another and still fall immediately into familiar conversation. There was no pressure with Agnes, no expectation that they had to become the same people they had been at eighteen simply because they had once shared a school. Enid picked up the phone.
Agnes: I'm actually in New York.
Enid's eyebrows shot upward.
WHAT?
A few seconds passed.
Agnes: College trip. We're here for several days.
Enid immediately sat up.
And you didn't tell me?!
Agnes responded with a laughing emoji before writing that she had arrived only that morning and had been busy getting her group settled. Enid demanded to know where they were staying, what they had done so far, whether Agnes had already seen Times Square, and whether her professors were forcing them to endure the sort of historical lectures that made everyone secretly want to fall asleep. The conversation quickly became exactly what Enid had expected from Agnes, comfortable and familiar despite the years.
Then Agnes wrote something that changed the entire mood.
Agnes : I was hoping we could have lunch tomorrow. Just us.
Enid smiled.
Obviously.
A moment passed.
Then another message appeared.
Agnes: There's something I need to tell you.
Enid's smile slowly disappeared.
She stared at the screen.
What kind of something?
Agnes did not answer immediately.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
Finally, the message came.
Agnes: It's about Wednesday.
Enid's fingers went completely still.She had not expected the name.
Not really.
Even after six years, hearing it still felt like someone had reached into her chest and closed a hand around her heart.
She typed carefully.
Is she okay?
The response took almost a minute.
Agnes: She's alive.
Enid swallowed.
That wasn't what she had asked. She tried again.
Is she in trouble?
Agnes: No. Well….
Did something happen?
There was a longer pause this time.
Agnes: Please let me explain tomorrow.
Enid stared at the words. She could have pushed. She almost did. Instead, she put her phone down and leaned back in her chair. Something about Agnes's messages had frightened her. Not because Wednesday was apparently in danger. Because Agnes knew something. And somehow, Enid suspected, she had known it for a very long time. Internally Enids wolf awoke at the mention of wednesday releasing a gentle whine.
The following afternoon, Enid arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early. She had spent far too much time deciding what to wear, which was ridiculous because this was only lunch with Agnes. Still, she had changed twice before leaving her apartment, and she had caught herself wondering what Wednesday would think of the outfit before immediately becoming irritated with herself for having the thought at all.
Six years.
Whatever Agnes wanted to tell her, it belonged to the past.
At least that was what Enid told herself as she walked through the restaurant doors.
Agnes was already seated near the back. They hugged immediately.
“You look amazing,” Agnes said.
“You too. How's the trip?”
“Exhausting.”
“Good.”
Agnes laughed.
“It's exactly as educational as you would expect.”
They sat down, ordered drinks, and spent several minutes talking about everything that had nothing to do with Wednesday. Agnes told Enid about her classes. Enid complained about work. They talked about New York, mutual friends, and people from Nevermore they hadn't seen in years. It was comfortable enough that Enid almost convinced herself that the strange tension in her stomach was nothing.
Then the food arrived. Agnes barely touched hers.
Enid noticed.
She waited another minute before putting down her fork.
“Okay.”
Agnes looked up.
“Okay what?”
“You've been staring at your plate for five minutes.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
Agnes sighed.
Enid leaned back.
“It's Wednesday, isn't it?”
Agnes looked down.
“Yes.”
The single word seemed to change the temperature around them.
Enid's expression softened.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened recently.”
That answer immediately caught Enid's attention.
“Recently?”
Agnes closed her eyes briefly.
“I've known where she is for a long time.”
Enid stared at her.
The words landed slowly.
“You what?”
Agnes looked miserable.
“I know where Wednesday is.”
“How long?”
“Almost four years.”
Enid's mouth opened.
No sound came out.
For several seconds, she simply stared.
“FOur years?”
“Yes.”
“You've known where she was for four years?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
Agnes flinched.
“No.”
Enid looked away.
She felt anger beginning to rise, but underneath it was something worse. Hurt.
“Why?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
Enid's expression changed.
“She contacted you?”
Agnes nodded.
“Eventually.”
“Where?”
“I can't tell you yet.”
Enid laughed bitterly.
“Agnes.”
“You've known where she is for four years.”
“And Wednesday asked you not to tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Agnes looked toward the window.
“Because she didn't want you to find her.”
Enid felt her throat tighten.
She had expected anger. Instead, she felt that old ache. The one she thought she had buried.
“Does she hate me?”
Agnes's eyes immediately returned to hers.
“No.”
The answer was too quick. Too certain.
Enid noticed.
“Then what?”
Agnes hesitated.
“She's not herself anymore.”
Enid frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“I mean exactly what I said.”
Agnes's voice had become quieter.
“Wednesday has always been distant. She's always liked solitude. She never needed people around her constantly. Even when we were at Nevermore, she could disappear for hours and be perfectly content. She could spend days writing alone and barely notice that anyone was missing. That was Wednesday.”
Enid nodded slowly.
“I remember. SHe was literally my best friend Agnes, I know all of this.”
“But this isn't that.”
Agnes looked down at her hands.
“This is something else entirely.”
Enid's chest tightened.
“What happened to her?”
“I don't know.”
“You've seen her?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Not many.”
“Why?”
“Because she doesn't let people close.”
Enid stared at her.
“Not even her family?”
Agnes shook her head.
“Not even them.”
“Morticia?”
Agnes's eyes became wet.
“Mama is scared.”
Enid had never heard Agnes call Morticia that way outside the Addams house. It made the situation feel suddenly intimate and terrible.
“She's scared?”
“She won't say it like that,” Agnes explained. “She'll say that Wednesday is merely going through something. She'll say that her daughter has always needed distance. She'll say that Wednesday has always been independent. But I know her. I've known her for years. And I've seen her when she talks about Wednesday.”
Agnes swallowed.
“She is frightened.”
Enid's anger disappeared.
“Why?”
“Because they can't reach her.”
Enid stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they call, and Wednesday answers… sometimes.. They write, and sometimes she responds weeks later with three words. Morticia has gone to see her. Gomez has gone to see her. Pugsley has tried. I've tried. Everyone has tried in one way or another, and every time Wednesday pushes them away. SHe will let them in for a day or 2 and then ask them to leave. Never letting a conversation get personal.
Enid's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Is she sick?”
“I don't know.”
“Is she in danger?”
“I don't think so.”
“That isn't very reassuring.”
Agnes's voice broke slightly.
“But Enid, something is wrong.”
Enid looked at her.
Agnes wiped quickly beneath one eye.
“She isn't just living alone. She has built her entire life around being unreachable. She doesn't let people visit. She doesn't keep friends. She doesn't let the family come to her. She barely communicates with anyone. She writes, she works, she disappears, and when someone tries to get through to her, she shuts the door.”
Enid felt something cold settle in her stomach.
“Where is she?”
Agnes looked at her.
“I promised her.”
“I get it Aggie… I do but please tell me..”
“I promised.”
Enid lowered her gaze. She understood.That was the worst part.
She understood why Agnes had kept the secret.
If Wednesday had specifically asked her not to reveal her location, then Agnes had been protecting her privacy. She had been honoring a promise. Enid couldn't blame her for that.
But now she understood why Agnes had asked to meet.
Agnes wasn't here because she wanted to tell Enid a secret.She was here because she was running out of ways to help.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Agnes was silent for a long time.
Then she reached across the table and took Enid's hand.
“Because I'm worried about her.”
Enid's eyes filled.
“So is everyone else.”
Agnes squeezed her hand.
“She is hurting herself.”
Enid froze.
“What?”
“I don't mean that she's trying to die. At least I dont think she is…”
Agnes's voice became urgent.
“I don't mean that. I mean she is destroying herself in other ways. She isolates herself. She doesn't eat properly sometimes. She doesn't sleep. She works until she's exhausted. She refuses help. She keeps everything inside until there's nothing left but the work.”
Enid couldn't speak. Agnes continued, tears finally slipping down her cheeks.
“She was always stubborn. She was always strange. She always preferred being alone. But this isn't solitude anymore, Enid. Its like shes punishing herself… I dont know why but it feels like she is.”
The word stayed between them. Enid stared at her.
“Punishment for what?”
Agnes shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Enid did. Or at least she thought she did.
Her chest hurt.
“Is it because of me?”
Agnes did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Enid looked down at their hands.
For six years, she had wondered whether Wednesday had forgotten her. Now she was being told that perhaps Wednesday had done the opposite.Perhaps she had remembered too much. Agnes wiped her face.
“I don't want to betray her.”
“You aren't.”
“I promised I wouldn't tell you where she was.”
“I know.”
“And yet every time I see her, I think about you.”
Enid looked up.
Agnes's expression was miserable.
“I think about that girl at Nevermore who used to follow Wednesday everywhere. I think about how you two were together all the time. I think about how Wednesday looked at you. I think about the way she changed after everything happened. And I keep wondering whether I'm doing the right thing by staying silent.”
Enid's breath caught.
“What are you saying?”
Agnes squeezed her hand again.
“Maybe she needs someone she can't push away.”
Enid stared at her.
“Agnes…”
“I don't know if you can reach her.”
A tear slipped down Enid's cheek.
“But I think you might be the only person who could.”
For the first time in six years, Enid allowed herself to consider something she had been too afraid to imagine. Not that Wednesday was coming back. Not that everything could somehow return to what it had been. Something much simpler.
Wednesday was somewhere in the world.
She was alive.
She was hurting. ENids wolf cried at that. And the people who loved her had tried everything they knew.Everything except Enid. Enid looked across the table.
“Does she know you're talking to me?”
Agnes shook her head.
“No.”
“She'll be angry.”
“Yes.”
“Probably furious.”
“Almost certainly.”
Enid laughed weakly through her tears.
“That sounds like her.”
Agnes smiled sadly.
“Yes.”
They sat quietly for a moment. Then Enid asked the question that frightened her most.
“Does she still think I hurt her?”
Agnes looked away.
“I don't know what she thinks anymore.”
Enid swallowed.
“But you said she changed.”
“I did.”
“Then maybe…”
She couldn't finish.
Agnes waited.
“Maybe she doesn't remember me.”
Agnes's expression softened.
“Oh, Enid.”
She reached across the table and touched her cheek.
“She remembers you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I've heard your name.”
Enid stopped.
“When?”
“More than once.”
Her heart began beating faster.
“What does she say?”
Agnes hesitated.
“Nothing much.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“I know.”
Agnes looked toward the window.
“The first time I mentioned you, she told me never to bring you up again.”
Enid's heart sank.
“And the second?”
“She left the room.”
“The third?”
Agnes smiled sadly.
“She asked if you were happy.”
Enid stopped breathing.
“She asked that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her?”
“I told her I believed you were.”
Enid looked down.
“And what did she say?”
Agnes's smile disappeared.
“Nothing.”
Enid closed her eyes. Wednesday she was…Still wondering. Still caring. Maybe that was why Agnes had finally come. Maybe that was why she had finally decided that a promise made to a wounded girl six years ago could no longer be more important than the woman that girl had become.
Enid opened her eyes.
“Tell me where she is.”
Agnes stared at her.
“I can't.”
“Then tell me how to find her.”
Agnes hesitated.
Then she quietly said, “But you came here because you want me to find her.”
Agnes's eyes filled again.
“Yes.”
Neither of them spoke. Enid reached across the table and took Agnes's hand.
“I won't force you to break your promise.”
Agnes looked at her.
“But if Wednesday needs me,” Enid continued, “then I need to know how to get to her.”
Agnes nodded slowly.
“I thought you might say that.”
She reached into her bag.
This time, she did not pull out a letter. She pulled out a photograph. She placed it facedown on the table. Enid stared at it.
Her heart was already racing. Agnes kept her hand resting over the photograph for another moment before finally looking at her.
“She doesn't know I'm giving you this…Its a photo I took of her a few months ago… the last time I visited her. I told her it was for a photography project, my major and all. She agreed too it as long as its only for an assignment and her name remain anonymous. It…it shows all you need to know.
Enid nodded.
“I understand.”
Agnes took a breath.
“Then I suppose we're both about to betray Wednesday.”
Enid almost smiled.
“Maybe.”
Agnes turned the photograph over. And Enid saw her.
Wednesday.
Six years older. Standing alone beneath a gray European sky.
Her black hair moved in the wind. Her face was thinner than Enid remembered.Her expression was empty. Her hair look thinner, her cheeks hollow and her hands thin. She looked…not quite ill but something close. She did not stand with that poise, or regality enid knew she just stood… somber and broken. THis was not the wednesday addams enid remembered. Enids wolf howled in pain at the sight of the photo. ENids human heart breaking as well.. Her wends….what had happened to her.
Enid stared at the photograph until her eyes began to burn. She didn't know where Wednesday was yet. She didn't know what had happened to her.She didn't know whether Wednesday would want to see her.
But for the first time in six years, Enid knew something that mattered.
Wednesday had not forgotten her. And perhaps, somewhere beneath all that silence, Wednesday was still waiting for someone to find her. Attached to the bottom of the photo was a location. A town in Spain…ENid knew where to go.
***************
That evening, Enid sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment with her laptop balanced against the coffee table, though she had not touched it in nearly an hour. The room around her was exactly as it had been when she left for lunch, bright and warm and unmistakably hers, filled with the little pieces of a life she had spent six years building without Wednesday Addams in it. Normally the apartment made her feel safe. Tonight it felt strangely small. The photograph Agnes had shown her was still burned into her mind. Wednesday beneath that gray European sky, standing alone as though the entire world had been deliberately emptied around her. Six years older. Thinner. Paler. Her black hair longer than Enid remembered, her face sharper, her expression almost impossible to read. She had looked like Wednesday, undeniably, but there had been something missing in her eyes. Something Enid could not stop seeing.
Then suddenly a knock on her door. It was yoko and divina no doubt. She rubbed both hands over her face, inhaled shakily, and finally answered.
"What happened?" Yoko asked immediately.
Enid swallowed. "Agnes knows where Wednesday is."
Silence filled the room. Divina's eyebrows rose slowly. Yoko stood straighter.
"What?" Divina said.
"Agnes knows where Wednesday is," Enid repeated, hearing how absurd it sounded the second time. "She's known for almost four years."
Yoko stared at her. "Four years?"
"Almost Four."
"And she never told you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Wednesday asked her not to."
The words came out more quietly than Enid intended. She looked down at her hands, fingers twisting together in her lap. For six years she had imagined every possible explanation for Wednesday's disappearance. Maybe Wednesday had wanted to forget Nevermore. Maybe she had gone somewhere remote to write. Maybe she had simply decided that the people she left behind no longer mattered. Enid had never imagined that Wednesday had actually been in contact with Agnes all along. That there had been a person in their old circle who knew where she was, who knew she was alive and safe, who had been carrying that secret while Enid went through six years of wondering whether she would ever hear from her again.
Yoko's expression hardened. "And Agnes just kept that from you?"
"She promised Wednesday she wouldn't tell me."
"That doesn't make it hurt less."
Divina looked between them. "What did Agnes actually tell you?"
Enid hesitated. She could still hear Agnes's voice from earlier that afternoon. She could still remember the way the other girl had struggled to find the right words, as though she had been carrying them for so long that even saying them aloud felt dangerous. Enid had spent years wondering whether Wednesday had been happy somewhere without her. She had wondered whether she had found another school, another city, another person. She had wondered whether perhaps Wednesday had simply grown into an adult who no longer needed any of them. The possibility had hurt, but it had also been easier to live with than what Agnes had told her.
"She's not okay," Enid said finally.
Neither Yoko nor Divina interrupted.
"Agnes said the Addams family is worried about her. Really worried. She said Wednesday barely talks to them. She doesn't let them visit. Sometimes she won't answer calls for weeks. Sometimes she sends one sentence and that's it. She works constantly. She doesn't sleep enough. She doesn't eat properly sometimes. She won't let anyone help her. She keeps everyone away."
Yoko's face changed.
Divina's fingers tightened around her mug.
"That's Wednesday," Yoko said carefully. "I mean, the isolation part. She's always been like that."
"No." Enid's answer came immediately, almost sharply. "That's what Agnes said too. She said this isn't normal for her. Not anymore."
She looked away toward the window. The city outside was glowing against the darkness, thousands of little lights shining from apartments and cars and buildings. Somewhere beyond all of that was a world she had never seen. Somewhere beyond it was Wednesday.
"Agnes said Mama is scared."
Divina went still.
"Morticia?" Yoko asked.
Enid nodded.
"Morticia Addams is scared about Wednesday?"
"That's what Agnes said."
For a moment none of them spoke. They all knew Morticia. They knew the way she had always looked at Wednesday, not with fear but with a strange, almost reverent pride. Wednesday could disappear into a cemetery for three days and Morticia would probably compliment her independence. Wednesday could announce she was moving to an abandoned monastery in Transylvania and Morticia would ask whether she needed anything packed. If Morticia was frightened by what was happening to her daughter, then whatever Agnes had seen was serious enough to frighten even an Addams.
Enid suddenly felt angry again.
Not sad. Not frightened.
Angry.
"So she did this to herself," she said.
Yoko's eyes narrowed slightly. "Enid."
"No, she did." Enid pushed herself upright, the words coming faster now. "She left. She disappeared. She cut me off. She cut all of us off. She made this decision. She chose to walk away from everyone who loved her, and now she's alone and miserable and apparently everyone is supposed to feel sorry for her?"
Divina watched her carefully.
Enid's throat tightened.
"I spent years thinking I had done something wrong."
The anger cracked around the edges.
"I thought maybe she hated me. I thought maybe I had been too much. Too loud. Too needy. Too..." She laughed once, bitterly. "Too Enid."
"You weren't too much," Yoko said immediately.
"I know that now." Enid wiped beneath one eye before the tear could fall. "But I didn't know it then."
She stood and began pacing, because sitting still had suddenly become impossible. She moved between the couch and the kitchen, arms folded tightly across her chest. The city lights moved behind her reflection in the window.
"I called her. I wrote letters. I asked her family. I asked Agnes. I kept waiting for something. Anything. And then eventually I had to accept that she didn't want me in her life anymore."
Yoko's voice softened. "Enid..."
"And now Agnes tells me she knows where she is."
She stopped.
"And she wants me to find her."
Neither friend spoke.
Enid's laugh came out shaky.
"Do you know how insane that makes me feel? YOu were there ... .both of you… the nights I sobbed and screamed. Pained and broken that my favorite person in the whole world just up and left me. So you can imagine how this feels right?”
"Pretty insane," Divina admitted gently.
"I want to scream at her."
There it was.
The thought had been sitting inside Enid since lunch, buried underneath everything else, and once she said it aloud, more came pouring after it.
"I want to scream at Wednesday. I want to ask her what the hell she was thinking. I want to know how she could do that to me. I want to know how she could just leave and then spend years knowing where she was while I was here thinking I had lost my best friend forever."
Her voice broke.
"I want to slap her."
Yoko did not laugh.
Divina did not tell her that she should forgive Wednesday.
They simply listened.
"I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her," Enid continued. "I want to tell her that she doesn't get to do that. She doesn't get to decide that everyone is better off without her and then shut herself away somewhere and make herself miserable because she thinks that's what she deserves. I want to scream at her and tell her that I loved her, I loved her so much more than anything and anyone and try and get it through to her!”
She stopped pacing.
Her breathing had become uneven.
"And then I see that picture."
The anger disappeared from her face so quickly it frightened even her.
"God."
She sank onto the couch.
"I saw her."
"What did you see?"
"I don't know."
Enid's voice was barely above a whisper.
"She looked lonely and thin and weak. My wolf… she couldnt stand it…couldnt stand seeing her mate like that.”
The word hung between them.
Mate. That was the final thing Enid had learned over the course of 6 years. She was in love with wednesday Addams, that the goth was her mate. THe one her wolf had selected. Even if wednesday never felt the same…that was what her wolf had chosen. THat was why it had hurt so much.
"I know she's always liked being alone. I know that's Wednesday. She doesn't need people around her every second. She never did. But that picture..." Enid pressed her palms against her eyes. "She looked like someone who had forgotten what it felt like to have another person beside her."
Divina's expression softened.
"And that still hurts you."
"Of course it does."
Enid lowered her hands.
"That's the worst part. I'm so angry with her. I'm furious. I feel like she abandoned me. And I still..." She stopped.
Yoko finished it for her.
"You still love her."
Enid looked at her.
The room seemed suddenly very quiet. She did not deny it.
"I don't know what kind of love it is anymore," she said. "I thought I did. Then I spent six years trying to move past it. And I did move past it. I dated Axel. I graduated. I made friends. I built a life. I was happy."
"You were," Divina said.
"I am."
"Then don't let anyone make you feel guilty about that."
"I'm not."
Enid looked down at the floor.
"But none of that changed what Wednesday was to me. IS to me…"
Yoko exhaled slowly.
"Axel was good to you."
"He was."
"And you loved him."
"I did."
"Just not like Wednesday."
Enid shook her head.
"No."
There was no bitterness in the admission. That was what made it different. For years she had wondered whether her relationship with Axel had been some kind of replacement, something she had done because Wednesday was gone. But that wasn't fair to Axel. He had been kind to her. He had listened. He had remembered little things. He had brought her coffee when she was studying and stayed up with her when she was sick. He had been safe when she desperately needed safety. She had loved him for all of those things. Their relationship had mattered.
But there had been no electricity.
No strange, terrifying sense that one person could walk into a room and rearrange the entire shape of it.
No feeling that she had known someone in another life. When Axel had eventually told her that perhaps they were better apart, Enid had cried. She had hugged him. She had mourned the relationship they had built together. But when he walked away, her world had not stopped turning.
When Wednesday had disappeared, it had.
"I don't want to go back to being eighteen," Enid whispered. "I don't want to be that girl who waits around for Wednesday to come back."
"You're not," Yoko said.
Enid looked at her.
Yoko folded her arms.
"You don't have to go running after Wednesday because Agnes told you where she is. You don't owe Wednesday your life."
"I know."
"And you don't have to forgive her before you're ready."
Divina nodded. "But that doesn't mean you can't go."
Enid looked at her.
"Why would I?"
"Because you're worried."
Enid opened her mouth, then closed it.
Divina continued, "You're angry because she hurt you. You're not wrong for being angry. But you're also sitting here looking like you're about to cry because you think she's alone and hurting somewhere and nobody can reach her."
"I hate that."
"I know."
"I hate that I still care."
Yoko gave her a sad smile.
"That's not something you get to turn off just because someone hurt you. IM mad at her too…dont get me wrong. I wanna slap that little murder barbie across her stupid smug face for hurting you like she did…but that doesn't mean your feelings are valid Eenie.
. For a while, she said nothing.
Then she whispered, "What if she doesn't want me?"
Yoko's expression softened.
"Then you leave."
"What if she tells me to go away?"
"Then you go away."
"What if she hates me?"
"Then she hates you," Divina said. "But at least you'll know."
Enid looked down.
"And what if she doesn't?"
Neither of them answered immediately.That was the question that frightened her most.
What if Wednesday opened the door?
What if she looked at Enid and did not see the girl she had left behind at graduation, but someone older, changed, scarred by six years of silence? What if Wednesday did not want to be found but could not admit it? What if she wanted Enid there? What if she had been waiting without admitting that she was waiting?
And beneath all those questions was the memory Enid had spent six years trying not to examine too closely.
Wednesday's arms around her at graduation.
The kiss on her head.
That quiet goodbye.
Enid had thought it was simply Wednesday's strange way of saying farewell to someone she loved as a friend.
But now, after Agnes had told her what she had, the memory felt different.
She did not understand why yet. Maybe she was afraid she would never understand.
"Do you think she left because of me?" Enid asked.
Divina shook her head. "We don't know why she left."
"Agnes wouldn't tell me."
"Then don't invent an answer."
Enid sighed.
"I keep thinking there must be something I missed."
"Maybe there was," Yoko said. "Maybe there wasn't. You can't solve six years of silence by torturing yourself tonight."
Enid smiled faintly.
"Very Yoko."
"I know."
For the first time since lunch, Enid laughed.
It was small, but real.
Divina smiled too. Then Enid looked toward the coffee table.
"Agnes thinks I might be able to reach her."
Yoko's expression became serious.
"Do you think you can?"
"I don't know."
She wanted to march across the world and demand answers from Wednesday Addams. She wanted to slap her, scream at her, ask her why she had abandoned the person who had loved her more fiercely than anyone. She wanted to tell Wednesday that she had no right to decide for everyone else that disappearing was easier. She wanted to make her understand what six years had felt like.
But underneath all of that was the image Agnes had shown her.
Wednesday alone beneath a gray sky.
And Enid could not stop thinking about the fact that somewhere out there, the woman she had once called her best friend was waking up every morning to an empty room.
"I think I have to find her."
Yoko and Divina exchanged a look.
Neither tried to stop her.
"Okay," Yoko said.
"Okay?" Enid repeated.
"Okay."
Divina nodded. "But you don't go there as the eighteen-year-old girl who spent six years waiting for her. You go as you."
Enid looked at her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you don't go there to rescue her. You don't go there because Agnes asked you to. You go because you need to see her and because you're worried about someone you once loved."
Enid's eyes stung.
"Once?"
Divina smiled sadly.
"Someone you still love, then."
Enid looked away.
"You're both terrible."
"Probably."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Enid laughed again, wiping at her eyes.
The laughter faded after a moment, leaving the three of them quiet.
Then Yoko said, "Whatever happens, you don't do it alone."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Divina nodded. "We're with you."
"Even if I go to Europe?"
"Especially if you go to Europe."
"You two are ridiculous."
"You're the one considering chasing a missing Addams across the Atlantic," Yoko said. "We're not the ridiculous ones."
Enid smiled.Just the possibility.
A train.
An airplane.A strange little town somewhere beneath a European sky.
A black door. Wednesday on the other side.The thought made her heart pound.
She did not even know whether Wednesday wanted to see her.
But she knew one thing.
She could not sit in her apartment and pretend she had never seen that photograph.
Not now.
Not after learning that the person who had once told her, without hesitation, you are my pack, had spent years building a life where nobody could reach her.
"I think I'm going to find her," she said.
This time, neither Yoko nor Divina tried to talk her out of it.
"Then we'll help you," Divina said.
Yoko nodded.
And for the first time in six years, Enid allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to stand in front of Wednesday Addams again.