To love her was to risk a shattering that would make me unable to look at my reflection.
But the potential was for Daisy to have a childhood filled with laughter. For a home, not a tomb. For me to feel something other than fury or emptiness.
I took a step toward them. Then another. Slowly, carefully, like approaching something precious and easily startled.
Anna stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused in the dim light. She saw me and went completely still, her arm tightening protectively around Daisy.
"Jack," she breathed, her voice rough with sleep. "I'm sorry. She had a nightmare. She wouldn't go back to her room unless I stayed. I must have dozed off."
She was already moving to extract herself, to retreat, to return to her designated role.
"Don't." The word came out before I could stop it. "Don't move. You'll wake her."
Anna froze, searching my face in the shadows. Looking for anger, maybe. For coldness. For the Jack Spencer who would have crucified her for this boundary violation weeks ago.
I didn't know what she saw. But whatever it was made her eyes go wide. Made her breath catch.
"Jack?" A question. A whole conversation in my name.
I should walk away. Should let this moment pass.Should retreat behind my walls, where it was safe and cold and lonely.
Instead, I pulled the throw blanket from the back of the nearby chair and draped it carefully over both of them.
"Sleep," I said quietly. "I'll make sure you both get to bed properly. Just sleep."
And then I did something I hadn't done in two years.
I sat down. In the chair across from them. Not to watch from a distance. But to be present. To be part of this moment instead of standing outside it.
Anna's eyes held mine for a long moment, confused, wary, hopeful.
Then, slowly, they drifted closed again. Her breathing evened out. But I noticed her arm stayed protectively around Daisy.
I sat there in the dark, watching the two people who'd somehow become my entire world sleep, and let myself imagine, just for a moment, what it might feel like to deserve this.
To deserve them.
12.Jack
I'd been standing outside the bright yellow doors of Bright Pages for ten minutes, key in hand, unable to turn the lock.
The street was quiet at this hour, the city still shaking off sleep. A jogger passed with her dog, earbuds in, oblivious to my paralysis. A delivery truck rumbled by. Somewhere, a car alarm chirped off. Normal sounds of a normal morning. But there was nothing normal about what I was about to do.
I needed to be here, in Elena's space, to make a decision that would change everything. But I was terrified of what she might tell me.
The key was cold against my palm despite the warmth of the morning. How many times had Elena held this same key? How many Saturday mornings had she stood here, eager to unlock the doors and welcome children into the world she'd built? I'd offered to have a keypad installed, something modern and secure.She'd refused, said there was something ceremonial about a key, about the physical act of opening a door to possibility.
I understood now. The weight of it. The responsibility.
The key finally turned with a soft click. Inside, early morning light streamed through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing over the colorful reading nooks and shelves of well-loved books. It still smelled like her, lavender and paper and that faint, clean citrus scent.
The silence wasn't empty. It never was here. The walls held echoes—children's laughter, Elena's voice doing silly character impressions, the whisper of turning pages. If ghosts existed, they lived in places like this. Not haunting, but lingering. Waiting.
I walked slowly through the main room, my footsteps loud in the quiet. The floorboards creaked in familiar places, a geography Elena had known by heart. My fingers trailed over the back of her chair. The fabric was worn soft from years of use, the pattern of flying books faded in spots where hands had gripped, where children had leaned. Anna sat here now. Every Saturday. In Elena's place.
The thought should have hurt more than it did.
I stopped at the wall of photos near the entrance, polaroids of Elena reading to enraptured children, her face alight with pure joy. There were dozens of them, a timeline of the foundation's growth. Elena on opening day, nervous and hopeful. Elena, withher first donation check, holding it up like a trophy. Elena, surrounded by children, mid-story, her hands frozen in some expressive gesture.
