"Hello, my sweet grandson," Harmony greeted quietly, reaching out to touch Wiley's name on his headstone. Her dark eyes were soft with love and grief.

"Mom," Willow whispered, rooted in place as she watched her mother visit her son.

Completely unaware of her audience, Harmony withdrew her hand and lowered it into her lap. "I feel terrible that this is the first time I've visited you," she said. "I know that your mother has, but I haven't, and I'm sorry for that."

'Just that?' Willow acerbically thought.

"Actually, not visiting you isn't the only thing I'm sorry for."

Willow tilted her head a bit, watching her mother. She couldn't see her face from this angle, but judging by her solemn tone, she inferred that the older woman was frowning. Normally she would have left by now, but she felt compelled to stay and listen to what Harmony had to say to her baby.

"I have a lot to be sorry for, so much that I don't really know where to start."

Willow leaned against a nearby tree, still silent.

Harmony took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Staring at the little headstone, her innocent grandson who was taken from everyone who loved him too soon, she began: "I'm sorry that I made my family move so often to suit my own needs. I was selfish and I hurt my daughter and my husband for something that I could have found by myself. I didn't have to move from place to place and group to group, I wanted to, and in doing so, I destroyed routines. I made it difficult for Douglas to hold a job, I made it impossible for Willow to have real, lasting friendships…" Harmony felt tears creeping into her eyes at her family's unhappiness. She took a moment to compose herself before continuing, "I never listened to them when they expressed their unhappiness and it made everything so much worse. I wish I could take all of that back.

"I'm sorry for what I did to Douglas. I loved your grandfather, I truly did, but I allowed my compulsive need to join something blind me to what was really important. Not only did I ignore him, I neglected him. I acted as if he didn't exist and then when we joined Dawn of Day, I broke my marriage vows to him. I promised to always love him, to cherish him and stay faithful to him, and I broke those vows. I ruined my marriage for a man who only cared about power and I was too ignorant and too stupid to realize it. And to make it worse…I contributed to his death. When he wanted to leave with Willow, I told Shiloh, your father and the leader of Dawn of Day. I saw Douglas' attempted defection as a betrayal and I wanted Shiloh to rectify it. I never thought that he would kill him, but when I discovered his plans, I didn't stop him. I didn't warn Douglas, I just let it happen. I allowed you to lose your grandfather, I allowed Willow to lose her father, and I allowed myself to lose the love of my life, and it has haunted me ever since."

Throat closing with grief and guilt, Harmony removed a handkerchief from her coat pocket and gently wiped away the tears that escaped her eyes, soft sniffles coming from her as she did.

Willow watched her mother's back. She was surprised; she never knew her mother to ever lose control of her emotions. Even before Dawn of Day, when she was still Lorraine and not Shiloh's follower or his mistress, she was always so distant. She couldn't remember a time where she ever witnessed her mother cry or get angry. She was so cold, like her entire being would shatter if she had to show even the slightest hint of what she felt on the inside. To hear her be so vulnerable, to know that she was crying so openly like this…it stunned her.

Finally regaining control of herself, Harmony returned her handkerchief to her coat pocket and came to the final part of this impromptu confession: "But nothing disgusts me more than how I treated your mother."

Willow couldn't help but perk up at that. Was her mother finally going to take responsibility for what she'd done to her?

"She was my miracle baby," Harmony started. "I had three children before her, but I lost them all. Two ended in miscarriages and the third died soon after she was born."

Willow's lips pursed, her eyes softening as sympathy flooded her body. She never knew that her mother lost children before her. It doesn't excuse what she did, but she could understand now why she would be so cold. Losing a baby is one of the worst things that could happen to a woman.

'After all,' she thought, eyes traveling to the little headstone. 'I should know.'

Harmony's voice recaptured her attention. "When she was born, I'd lost my third child, a little girl named Destiny. It devastated me, especially since it was difficult for me to carry to term. I wanted to be a mother so badly, but each pregnancy was one failure after another and I began to wonder if something was wrong with me.

"But then she came, and I was so happy. I knew the moment she was placed into my arms that I would do anything to keep her safe, but I didn't do that. I did the opposite. I made her miserable and lonely during her childhood and then I put her into harm's way when she became an adult.

"I knew that Shiloh was obsessed with your mother. The way he looked at her…it was disgusting, but I was so desperate to be part of his inner circle that I did what he wanted me to do. I brought her into a situation where she could not give her consent. I was supposed to protect her, but all I did was harm her." Tears slid down Harmony's cheeks again as she thought back to that night, where she watched her daughter succumb to the drugged tea before being branded. Something deep down told her that what she was assisting with was wrong, but she ignored it. She watched Shiloh mark her daughter with a needle and then she watched him carry her into another room.

Willow's expression was still carefully blank, but the pain and anger swirled within her chest at the memories her mother's words were conjuring. She hated Harmony so much for allowing that monster to use her for his own twisted pleasures.

"Your mother was entrusted to me to give her a good life, and I failed her over and over again. I never gave her a stable childhood, I let her be abused by your father, I chose him over my husband and caused his death, but that's nothing compared to how I've lied to her for years. I'm so sorry for being such a horrible mother and an even worse grandmother, but I will work every day to try to atone for my mistakes."

Willow frowned, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why was Harmony talking like that? Entrusted to her? Lied to her for years? What?

Harmony leaned over to gently kiss the headstone, her lips lingering on the cold marble for several seconds before pulling away. "I love you, Wiley," she murmured, finally standing from her position and turning to exit the cemetery only to freeze when she noticed Willow.

"Willow," Harmony breathed.

Willow stared stonily back at her. "Mom," she said flatly.

For a moment Harmony couldn't speak, only gape at her, her eyes wide with panic. "How…" She cleared her throat. "How much of that did you hear?"

That question sent all of the alarms in her head flaring red. She was right; her mother was hiding something from her. And from that stricken expression on her face, it was something big.

"All of it."

Harmony blanched. "Willow…" Her voice trailed off, mouth suddenly going dry as terror gripped her heart. This wasn't the way she wanted to tell her!

"What did you mean when you said that you lied to me? You never once said anything about being pregnant with me, only that I was born and that I was entrusted to you. Tell me the truth, Mom," Willow demanded, glaring at her as she stepped forward.

Harmony swallowed. This was it. This was the moment where she lost her daughter forever.

"Okay, Willow," she began. "Before I tell you, I want you to know that you have always been my daughter and I have always loved you."

Willow stared at her. Her words made her flinch internally, but she crossed her arms over her chest and kept her expression carefully composed. She was silent, expectant.

Heart pounding and dread gnawing at her stomach, Harmony finally said the five words that she spent twenty-six (twenty-seven in June) years withholding:

"I'm not your biological mother."