“You knew,” I stated, the weight of the realization pressing on my chest. “You all knew.”
June walked around the desk, her expression tender. “Cleo came to see me two months before the girls were born. She was so full of life, even though she was exhausted from the pregnancy. She asked me, ‘If one of my girls ever needs a reason to love books, will you help her find one?’ She wasn’t asking for a favor, Alan. She was asking for a legacy.”
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. “She knew? She knew she wouldn’t be here?”
“She knew the risks,” June replied, pulling a small, faded bookmark from her desk. It contained three pressed wildflowers. “She told me, ‘Mothers prepare for everything. This is just another kind of preparation.’”I walked out of the library, the world looking different. Every encounter, every act of kindness I had attributed to luck, was actually a carefully laid thread in a tapestry Cleo had woven from beyond the grave.Daughter keepsakes
For illustrative purposes onlyMother’s Day cards
I went to Arthur’s house. The music teacher looked at the notebook and smiled, a melancholy expression that spoke of long, quiet afternoons.
“She asked me, ‘If one of them ever wants to give up on music too quickly, ask her to try one more lesson,’” Arthur told me.
I remembered the night Chloe had cried after a failed recital, ready to throw her violin in the trash. Arthur had arrived at our door that evening with fresh strings and a story about how every artist has to fail to learn. He hadn’t been just a teacher. He had been an anchor.
By the time I reached the bakery to talk to Nina, the pattern was unmistakable. Nina told me how Cleo had come to her every Saturday during her pregnancy. They had sat by the window, talking about the future—the future Cleo wouldn’t see.
“She told me, ‘If one birthday ever feels smaller than it should, don’t let it,’” Nina said, wiping tears from her eyes. “She wanted to make sure they felt celebrated, every single year. The three frosting flowers? That was her request. She wanted them to know they were always seen.”People & Society
The last stop was Samuel’s workshop. His daughter greeted me, her eyes red. Samuel had passed away only a month prior, quietly in his sleep. I walked into his shop, the smell of cedar and sawdust wrapping around me like a hug.
