● CHAPTER 9: Anna’s Song
The next morning, the story was everywhere.
Not the version Margaret would have purchased. Not the polished family statement. The real version. Guests had spoken. Records had surfaced. Nurse Calloway had delivered copies before dawn. By noon, Margaret Hart’s name had been removed from three boards, two charities, and the wing of a children’s hospital she had once used as proof of her goodness.
But Noah did not watch the news.
He sat in the back garden of the Hart estate, wrapped in a blanket that Evelyn had insisted was not expensive even though it looked like it belonged in a museum. Thomas sat several feet away on the stone steps, holding a small speaker.
Evelyn stood between them with the joined dove locket in her palm.
“There’s one more thing,” Thomas said.
Noah stiffened.
“It’s not proof,” Thomas added quickly. “Just something Anna left here before the hospital. I couldn’t listen to it after I thought she died.”
He pressed play.
A woman’s voice filled the garden.
Soft. Warm. Imperfect. Singing a lullaby about two stars finding each other after the sky forgot their names.
Evelyn made a broken sound.
Noah stopped breathing.
He knew that voice from motel rooms and bus stops, from nights when Anna hid her coughing in music, from mornings when she pretended burnt toast was a feast. But this recording was younger. Hopeful. Before fear had worn her down.
Thomas covered his face.
On the recording, Anna laughed mid-song and said, “Thomas, stop looking so serious. They’re babies, not board members.”
Evelyn laughed and cried at the same time.
Noah pressed both hands over his mouth.
The song continued.
When it ended, none of them moved.
Then Evelyn held out the locket. “I think Mom wanted us to share it.”
Noah stared. “How?”
“We can keep it together somewhere. Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”
Thomas stood slowly. “Anna loved the greenhouse. We can put it there, if you want. No ceremony. No cameras.”
Noah looked toward the glass greenhouse beyond the roses. It was bright inside, full of living things.
His mother had spent years being hidden in rooms with bad locks and broken heaters. A greenhouse felt impossible.
“Can we put her letter there too?” he asked.
Thomas’s eyes filled again. “Yes.”
“And the photo.”
“Yes.”
Noah wiped his face with the heel of his hand, embarrassed by tears that would not stop.
Evelyn stepped closer, then stopped. “Can I hug you?”
Noah looked at her blue dress from the night before, now replaced by jeans and a sweater, and saw not a rich girl but a sister who had been robbed differently.
“Not too tight,” he said.
She nodded.
May you like
The hug was awkward and careful.
Then Noah held on.
