Chapter 10 - The Warmth of the Hearth
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the New York skyline in streaks of violet and gold as evening settled over the Moretti estate.
Inside the grand study, the fire crackled brightly behind the iron grate, throwing a warm, amber glow across the walnut desk and the leather armchairs. The room no longer smelled of smoke and old sorrow; it smelled of cedarwood, hot cocoa, and the faint, sweet scent of baby powder.
I sat at my desk, looking over a stack of architectural blueprints for the new children's wing we were opening next month in Brooklyn, when the door opened without a knock.
No guards announced them.
Emma walked in, holding a sleepy Lily in her arms, her little sister’s thumb tucked safely into her mouth as her heavy eyelids fluttered shut against Emma’s shoulder.
“She won't go to sleep unless you read her a story, Papa,” Emma said, walking over to the oversized leather sofa by the fire and gently laying Lily down among a pile of soft blankets.
I laid my pen down on the blueprints, stood up, and walked over to them. I scooped Lily up into my arms, feeling the steady, strong beat of her heart against my chest—the exact same rhythm I had felt the night she first crossed my threshold out of the storm.
I sat down on the sofa, pulling Emma close against my side as she leaned her head on my shoulder.
“What story do you want tonight?” I asked softly, pulling an illustrated book of fairy tales from the mahogany shelf within arm's reach.
“Tell us the one about the knight who found his way home through the dark,” Emma whispered, her eyes already growing heavy with sleep.
May you like
I opened the book to the first page, the silver necklace resting warm against my chest beneath my shirt, catching the light of the fire.
And as the wind battered the heavy glass of the windows outside—harmlessly now, unable to touch us—I began to read, knowing at last that the dark was gone, and we had finally found our way home.
