Chapter 10 - The Melody of the Moon
Three years later.
The sound of giggling drifted down the hallway of our new home.
It was a small, cozy cottage in a sleepy, tree-lined town in Michigan, far away from Columbus and the ghosts of our past. The walls were painted in warm, cheerful colors—no "mean colors" allowed. The backyard was wild, filled with wildflowers, a big oak tree with a tire swing, and a vegetable garden we had planted together.
I stood in the doorway of the bathroom.
Lily was eight years old now. Her brown curls were longer, her face bright and healthy, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
She was in the bathtub, surrounded by a mountain of bubbles. She was currently orchestrating a grand dramatic opera using a fleet of plastic boats, a rubber duck, and a brand new green frog toy I had bought her.
"And then the princess boat said, 'No, you cannot pass!'" Lily sang in a dramatic, booming voice, splashing her hand in the water. "Because this is my ocean!"
I leaned against the door frame, a warm cup of tea in my hands, a soft smile on my face.
There was no silence here.
There were no whispers, no flinching, no dark secrets. There was only the beautiful, chaotic, wonderful noise of a child being a child.
"Are you almost done in there, opera star?" I asked. "Your pajamas are waiting."
"Just five more minutes, Mommy!" she pleaded, giving me her best puppy-dog eyes. "The duck hasn't saved the frog yet!"
"Okay, five minutes," I laughed. "But then it's bedtime story time."
"Can we read the one about the moon?"
"Always."
Later, after she was tucked into her bed under a canopy of glow-in-the-dark stars, I sat on the edge of her mattress. Her stuffed rabbit, worn and loved, was tucked under her arm.
She looked up at me, her face peaceful.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, my love?"
"Do you remember when we used to play the scary game?" she asked softly.
My heart gave a tiny, familiar squeeze, but it didn't hurt anymore. The wound had healed, leaving only a faint, strong scar.
"I remember," I said gently, stroking her hair. "But that game is gone, Lily. We don't play scary games anymore."
"I know," she smiled, her eyes drifting closed. "I was just thinking... I'm glad I told you. I'm glad we broke the old family, because this one is way better."
I felt a tear slip down my cheek, but it was a tear of pure, unadulterated happiness.
"Me too, baby," I whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Me too."
I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the night sky. The moon was big and bright, casting a silver glow over the quiet garden below.
May you like
It felt like it was following us.
Because it liked us.
