Chapter9
My mother’s sobs were muffled, like a wounded animal weeping in the dark.
I knew the truth-Linda’s very existence was like a bell tolling endlessly in my mother’s heart, a constant reminder of the tragedy she had lived through once before.
As long as Linda hovered near, she could never escape the memory of losing me-that gut-wrenching pain of having her child torn away.
Watching her huddled in the corner, crying, my little heart ached so badly it felt like it might crack apart.
Mom, don’t cry.
I struggled, trying to crawl toward her, to offer even the tiniest comfort. But my limbs were still weak, useless flails of soft flesh.
All I could do was let out a string of baby sounds-“eeh, ahh”-hoping she would hear me.
Her sobs quieted.
She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and swollen, puffed up like she’d been stung, filled with sorrow and confusion too heavy to dispel.
“Why… why did you come back?” she whispered, as though asking me, or perhaps asking herself.
“In my last life, I already suffered so much. Why make me live it all again?”
Her words stabbed deep into me, as if an invisible fist clenched my tiny heart.
You’re wrong, Mom.
I didn’t return to force you into another cycle of pain.
I forced every ounce of strength into my face, curling my lips into the biggest, brightest smile I could manage.
I couldn’t speak. But my smile was my voice, telling her. With me here, everything will be okay.
Her eyes widened.
For a moment, her grief loosened, washed over by the flicker of something else-something softer, unwilling, but undeniably stirred.
The next few days passed in strange calm.
Linda didn’t reappear. My mother’s moods steadied.
That deliberate wall of coldness she’d built around herself seemed to thaw, almost without her realizing it. Chapter9
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She held me while gazing out the window. She read me poetry she loved. She tapped my tiny nose with her fingertip, and when I laughed in response, her lips lifted too-just slightly, but enough.
Then my father came home from his trip.
The moment he stepped inside, he noticed the change.
Grandma’s complexion had improved, and the icy tension between my mother and me was no longer the same frigid stalemate.
“Charlotte, you’ve worked so hard,” he murmured as he set his luggage down and wrapped his arms around her from behind while she was changing my diaper.
She stiffened at the contact-but didn’t push him away.
“Look at her,” he said, gazing down at me with warmth that filled his eyes. “Our daughter’s so beautiful.
You have no idea-while I was gone, I dreamed about her every single night.”
Mother lowered her head, saying nothing, though her hands grew gentler, more careful.
For a moment, it felt like a real family-warm, intact, fragile but whole.
Until the phone rang.
An uninvited voice shattered it all.
It was the agency.
“Mr. Lawson, sorry to disturb you. Do you remember a nanny named Linda Parker, who used to work at your home?”
Father put the call on speaker. The voice on the other end was crisp and clear.
“Yes, I remember her. What about it?”
“Well… two days ago, Linda fell down a flight of stairs. She’s in critical condition, unconscious. The accident happened right outside your building. We were hoping you could provide some details about what might have happened.”
Chanterg
CASC
