By the time Hope returned to see if she was finished, Delphine had tied the string tightly around the box, ready to give it back to her.
‘Whatever gave you the idea to use little wooden boxes?’ Delphine asked.
‘Because a similar little box meant the world to me many years ago, so I understand the power of leaving something behind.’
Delphine wasn’t sure she knew what Hope was saying—had she herself been left a box? But Delphine didn’t want to ask, not after the personal questions she’d already posed to her when she’d been in the latter stages of labour, being far more inquisitive than she would ever usually be.
‘Delphine, in the morning, when the family arrive…’
She forgot all about the box as she looked up at Hope. Her three days of caring for her daughter were almost over. A pain that easily rivalled her labour stabbed deep inside of her at the thought of giving up her darling little baby, but she also felt another pain, from not seeing her other children in so long.
Delphine nodded and left the room, going quickly upstairs and to her bedroom, to find the baby still sleeping soundly, tucked up in her crib. When she’d had Tommaso and Isabella, she’d been surrounded by others helping her. In the night, someone would bring her the baby if it needed feeding, and someone else would take the baby from her during the day if she needed some time to herself, but her experience with her third child couldn’t have been more different. Delphine had barely been parted from her for so much as a minute, other than to go downstairs to prepare the box. She’d placed her crib right beside her bed so she could leave her hand dangling into it, fingertips brushing against her daughter as they both slept. She’d nursed her and kissed her, sung lullabies to her and rocked her to sleep in her arms, and walked with her around the gardens, tucked in a little blanket with just her face peeping out. She’d made sure to soak up every single moment with her, showing her as much loveas she could, making space in her heart for her little daughter, even though the pain of what was to come terrified her.
‘Tomorrow, we have to say goodbye,’ Delphine told her as she saw her little eyes blink open, scooping her up into her arms. ‘But tonight, we will be together. Tonight, I will stare at you and kiss you all night long, little one.’
Her baby held out one little arm, her tiny pink mouth stretching into a yawn as she listened to her mother. It was the most innocent, normal little movement, but just seeing that made a sob rise and then choke in Delphine’s throat. She forced herself to clear it, looking down at her daughter as tears filled her eyes.
‘Why don’t I tell you all about your big brother and big sister?’ she said, walking over to the window and kissing her daughter’s forehead as she stood in the dappled sunlight. ‘If your father was here, we would have moved into his lake house by now. Your sister would adore you—I think she’d take on the role of second mother. And your brother is the sweetest, most thoughtful boy. He would have doted on you from the moment I arrived home with you.’
The baby was silent, staring up at Delphine as if she could understand every word. Delphine bent to kiss her again, this time gently placing her lips to her cheek, and then to her little hands.
‘If only your papa could have met you,’ Delphine whispered. ‘He would have loved every inch of you.’
She stood for a while longer, but when the sun began to fade, she walked back to her bed and propped herself up against the pillows. She knew she would never sleep tonight, not when they had only hours left together, not when she would have to say goodbye in the morning. Tonight, she would tell her daughter a lifetime of stories, and she would also tell her the story ofthe sapphire and why she’d chosen to leave it behind for her to discover one day.
The next day, Delphine got into the car and huddled in the back seat as the driver took her bags. Her breath was coming in sharp pants, her shoulders hunched, and she felt as if her heart was bleeding into her chest.
‘Delphine,’ said a warm, familiar voice.
It was Hope. Of course, it was Hope. The woman had soothed her and counselled her during her three-month stay. She’d been like a mother to her, a trusted friend who could feel her pain, and quite possibly the most selfless person she’d ever met. But now, after the agony of saying goodbye to her daughter, Delphine could barely lift her head to look at her.
‘I saved this for you,’ Hope said, passing her something as she leaned in through the door. ‘I thought you might like to keep it.’
She realised what it was the second Hope placed it on her lap, and she immediately reached for it and held it up, burying her face against the little cardigan that her baby had been wearing. The soft wool still smelt of her, made Delphine’s breasts begin to leak as she remembered the weight of her little girl in her arms, as she yearned to feed her one last time.
‘And you left this behind by mistake,’ Hope said. ‘And I was certain you’d want it.’
She took the piece of paper Hope held out to her, her heart breaking for another reason entirely as she stared down at the brightly coloured drawing. Isabella had drawn it for her and Martina had sent it, Delphine pinning it to the wall in her room at Hope’s House. It was a picture of a pretty house with a bright yellow sun high in the sky and a collection of flowers sprouting up all around. Then, to the side, there were two people holdinghands, women or girls with long hair, and she knew that Isabella was drawing a picture of them together.
‘Remember why you did this, Delphine. Don’t ever let yourself forget why you made this decision.’
Delphine nodded and clutched the picture in one hand and the item of clothing in the other as Hope stepped back and closed the door, before the driver got in behind the steering wheel and drove them away. Delphine looked over her shoulder at Hope as she left, wishing she had the strength to lift her hand in a wave, but she couldn’t. Her body felt numb, her eyes felt raw, her heart felt broken; but as she looked down at the picture, she tried to remember Hope’s words.
I’m going to see my children. Today, I get to hold my two children in my arms.
Hope had called ahead to speak to Martina, advising her that her medical treatment was over and that she was ready to return to her family, so she knew that everyone would be expecting her. Her only saving grace was that she was supposed to look unwell or as if she were still recovering from an illness, and she knew that it would be only natural for her to cry and become emotional after not seeing her children in three months. There would be nothing unusual about her tears, which at least meant her puffy eyes would go unnoticed.
The closer they got to the house she’d rented for her and the children, the tighter she held the item of clothing, but when they were within a few blocks, she tucked it down into her brassiere, wanting to keep her baby’s scent as close to her skin as possible.
When the car finally pulled up, she knew it was time to gather herself. The children would be waiting for her, Martina would be waiting for her; her husband could even be waiting for her.
She stepped out, smoothing down the creases in her skirt and thanking the driver for his assistance with her bags. He carriedthem up the few steps and she held her hand to knock, hesitating before finally tapping her knuckles against the timber.
It felt strange to be knocking at the door of the home she’d rented. Part of her had wondered about just letting herself in, but she felt that it would be better to wait than give anyone inside an unexpected surprise.
‘Mama?’ The boy standing on the other side of the door when it swung open looked far too grown up to be her son.
‘Tommaso?’ she cried. ‘Look at you! How did you grow in such a short time?’
