Chapter 202 The Reckoning

Chapter 202 The Reckoning
The morning sun rose over the cottage, casting long shadows across the garden. Damian sat on the porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, watching the light play across the dogwoods. The world felt peaceful, but something gnawed at the edges of his mind. A restlessness that had been growing for weeks. A feeling that their peace was too fragile to last.

Ava joined him, her hand finding his. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

"About what?"

"About the children. About their futures. About whether we've done enough."

She leaned into him. "We've done more than enough. We've given them a home, a family, a place to belong."

"I know. But I keep wondering if there's something else we should be doing. Something we're missing."

A car appeared at the gate. It was a sleek black sedan, polished and new. Damian had never seen it before. A woman stepped out. She was tall, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. She wore a tailored suit and carried a leather briefcase.

She walked to the porch and stopped in front of Damian.

"Are you Damian Blackwood?" she asked.

"I'm Damian Day now."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I'm Elizabeth Vance. I'm an attorney. I represent the estate of Clara Cross."

Damian stared at her. "Clara Cross has been dead for years."

"Yes. But her estate has never been fully settled. There's something that belongs to you."

Elizabeth Vance sat in the living room. The fire was lit. The family gathered around her, their faces wary.

"Clara left a letter," Elizabeth said. "One that was never opened. One that was meant to be given to her children when they were ready."

"What does it say?" Damian asked.

Elizabeth pulled a thick envelope from her briefcase. It was yellowed, sealed with red wax. "I don't know. It's sealed. She instructed that it be opened by the entire family."

Damian took the envelope. His hands were steady.

The family gathered in the yellow room. The stars glowed above them. The cedar chest was open. Damian broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

The handwriting was Clara's, familiar and aching.

My dear family,

If you're reading this, I'm gone. But I want you to know that you were always on my mind.

I know I made mistakes. I know I hurt people. I know I kept secrets that should have been shared.

But I also know that I loved you. All of you. More than you will ever know.

I'm leaving you one last thing. It's in the safe deposit box at First National Bank in Millfield. The key is enclosed.

Use it however you see fit.

—Clara

Damian read it aloud. The room was silent.

"Another box," Ava said.

"Another key," Margaret agreed.

"Then we go to Millfield."

The drive to Millfield took two hours. Damian, Ava, and Leo went together. The bank was small, old-fashioned, with a brass plaque on the door.

The manager recognized the key. "This box has been in our vault for years. The owner paid for it in cash."

Damian opened the box. Inside, a single envelope. Thick, yellowed, unmarked. He opened it and pulled out a letter. Handwritten. Dated 1995. Clara's handwriting.

To my family,

If you're reading this, you've found the box. You've found the key. You've found your way.

I'm not Clara. I'm not Margaret. I'm not Eleanor. I'm someone who loved them all.

My name is Catherine. I was Clara's best friend. I was the one who helped her hide the baby. I was the one who took her to the adoption agency. I was the one who promised to keep the secret.

I'm still alive. I'm still watching. I'm still waiting.

I'll be at the cottage on Sunday. I'll be sitting on the porch. I'll be holding a photograph of my own.

—Catherine

The family returned to the cottage. The letter was placed in the cedar chest. The key was placed beside it.

"Now we wait," Damian said.

"We wait," Ava agreed.

Sunday arrived. The sky was clear, the dogwoods full. A car appeared at the gate. An old sedan, blue, dusty. A woman got out. She was in her seventies, with gray hair and kind eyes. She carried a photograph in her hands.

She walked to the porch and sat down. The family gathered around her.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," Catherine said. "I've been waiting to see my family whole."

Catherine stayed for dinner. The table was crowded, the conversation warm. She told stories about Clara, about the first star, about the night she taught her to fold it.

"She was just a girl," Catherine said. "She was scared, she was alone, she didn't know where she belonged. So I taught her to fold stars. I taught her to hope."

"And she never stopped," Rose said.

"She never stopped," Catherine agreed.

That night, Catherine added a star to the ceiling. Silver, small, near Clara's. She wrote a single word: Remembered.

"For Clara," she said. "For the friend I never forgot."

The family stood together, the stars glowing above them. The yellow room was full.