Chapter 10 - THE WHISPER OF THE FUTUREThat evening, the house was filled with the rich, comforting scent of roasted garlic and rosemary as Whitney prepared dinner in the kitchen.
I sat at the grand piano in the parlor, my fingers resting lightly on the ivory keys. For years, I hadn't touched the piano; David always complained that the music gave him a headache while he reviewed his "business documents."
Now, the notes rang out clear, resonant, and free.
Footsteps padded softly across the hardwood floor behind me. I stopped playing and turned around.
Owen stood there, holding a worn-out storybook in his hands. He looked up at me, his eyes wide, intelligent, and completely free of fear.
"Can you read to me tonight, Mom?" he asked softly.
My heart swelled, a rush of overwhelming emotion bringing happy tears to my eyes. I stood up from the piano bench, scooped him up into my arms, and buried my face in his neck, breathing in the sweet scent of soap and sunshine.
"I can read to you for as long as you want, buddy," I whispered.
We walked over to the oversized armchair by the bay window, where the warm glow of the reading lamp cut through the gathering twilight outside. Whitney walked by, carrying a plate of warm cookies, winking at us with a wide, loving smile before closing the study door behind her.
May you like
As I opened the book and began to read aloud, Owen snuggled close against my chest, his small hand resting over my heart.
The monsters were gone. The silence was broken. And our story—the real story, written by our own hands and spoken in our own voices—was only just beginning.
