Chapter 2
“Mr. Moretti, there’s something about Lily’s family you need to see.”
Dominic slowly stood.
I watched his face change.
Not angry.
Not frightening.
Something else.
The orphanage director, Mrs. Caldwell, held a thin manila folder against her chest.
My name was written across the tab.
LILY HARPER.
I hugged Mr. Bear tighter.
“Is that about me?”
Mrs. Caldwell looked down.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Dominic glanced at me.
Then at her.
“What is it?”
She hesitated.
“Perhaps we should discuss it inside.”
“No.”
His voice was calm.
“She’s six, not invisible.”
Mrs. Caldwell looked embarrassed.
Dominic crouched beside me again.
“Lily, this file has information about your family. Do you want to hear it now, or would you rather we talk later?”
I thought carefully.
Adults were always whispering around children.
They thought we didn’t notice.
We did.
“I want to know.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
We moved beneath the old oak tree.
Mrs. Caldwell sat on the bench.
Dominic remained beside my wheelchair.
Not towering over me.
Beside me.
That mattered.
Mrs. Caldwell opened the file.
“Lily came to St. Jude’s almost three years ago.”
I knew that part.
I remembered little pieces of before.
A woman singing.
The smell of vanilla lotion.
A yellow blanket.
Rain against a window.
But most of it felt like a dream I could never finish.
“My mother?” I asked.
Mrs. Caldwell softened.
“Her name was Anna Harper.”
Dominic suddenly went still.
I noticed immediately.
“You know her?”
He didn’t answer.
Mrs. Caldwell looked at him.
“You recognize the name?”
Dominic stared at the paperwork.
“Anna Harper.”
His voice was almost a whisper.
Then he looked at me.
“What was her middle name?”
Mrs. Caldwell checked.
“Rose.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
His face had gone pale.
I reached toward him.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He opened his eyes.
“Yes, princess?”
“Are you sick?”
“No.”
“You look sick.”
A man behind him made a strange sound that might have been a cough hiding a laugh.
Dominic glanced over his shoulder.
The man immediately became very serious.
“I’m fine.”
I did not believe him.
But I nodded.
Mrs. Caldwell continued.
“Lily’s mother died when Lily was three.”
I knew that too.
Sort of.
They had told me Mommy was gone.
But when you are three, gone can mean many things.
Sometimes people say someone is gone and then they come back from the grocery store.
Mommy never came back.
“What about my daddy?” I asked.
The adults looked uncomfortable.
I hated that look.
It usually came before someone told me they didn’t know.
Mrs. Caldwell turned a page.
“He was never listed on your birth certificate.”
I stared at my teddy bear.
“Oh.”
Dominic looked toward Mrs. Caldwell.
“What happened to Anna?”
“Heart condition.”
His expression changed again.
“She had one?”
“According to the records, yes. Congenital.”
Dominic looked away.
I touched his sleeve.
“You really knew my mommy?”
This time he answered.
“Yes.”
“Was she nice?”
His jaw tightened.
“She was very nice.”
“Did she know your mommy?”
Dominic looked at me sharply.
“Why would you ask that?”
I shrugged.
“Because you brought presents from your mommy’s foundation.”
He stared at me for two seconds.
Then his mouth twitched.
“Fair.”
Mrs. Caldwell pulled a photograph from the folder.
It showed two young women standing in front of a hospital.
One was my mother.
Even I recognized her.
She had my curls.
My smile.
My eyes.
The other woman was older.
Elegant.
Dark-haired.
Dominic took the photograph.
His hand trembled slightly.
“That’s my mother.”
I leaned closer.
“Your mommy knew my mommy.”
“Yes.”
“Were they friends?”
Mrs. Caldwell handed him another paper.
“More than that.”
Dominic read.
Then looked up.
“What is this?”
“A reference letter.”
“For Anna?”
“Yes.”
He read it silently.
His mother, Sofia Moretti, had written it twelve years earlier.
Anna Harper had worked for the Moretti Foundation.
First as a volunteer.
Then as an administrative assistant.
Later as a patient advocate.
Dominic sat down on the bench.
I watched him.
“Did you know that?”
“No.”
Mrs. Caldwell continued.
“According to our records, Anna spent several years helping families navigate pediatric rehabilitation services.”
My wheelchair squeaked when I shifted.
“Like me?”
“Yes.”
Dominic looked at the chair.
Then back at the photograph.
Something about that made his eyes shine.
My mother had helped children like me.
I liked that.
“She helped kids?”
“A lot of them,” Mrs. Caldwell said.
“Did she draw butterflies?”
Mrs. Caldwell smiled.
“I don’t know.”
“I do.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Dominic looked toward me.
“I’ve seen three butterflies on Mr. Bear.”
“They’re tattoos.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“Tattoos?”
“With marker.”
He looked at the blue scribbles across the teddy’s fabric.
“Dangerous.”
“Very.”
That made him smile.
Then Mrs. Caldwell pulled out one final page.
“This is what I thought you needed to see.”
Dominic took it.
The color drained from his face again.
It was a handwritten note.
My mother’s handwriting.
Not that I knew it.
But Dominic did.
He read the first line silently.
Then stopped.
Mrs. Caldwell said, “It was attached to Lily’s emergency guardianship paperwork.”
“What does it say?” I asked.
Dominic looked at me.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he read aloud.
“If anything happens to me, please contact Sofia Moretti.”
I blinked.
“Your mommy?”
“Yes.”
He kept reading.
“She promised me years ago that Lily would never be alone.”
Nobody spoke.
Wind moved through the oak leaves.
Dominic looked toward the main building.
“My mother died four years ago.”
Mrs. Caldwell nodded.
“Anna died three years ago.”
His expression hardened.
“Why wasn’t I contacted?”
“We found the note only recently.”
“How?”
“Old files were digitized during an audit.”
Dominic stared.
“So Lily has been here three years while my family foundation helped fund this place.”
“Yes.”
“And nobody connected the names.”
“No.”
He stood.
For a moment, I thought he was angry at me.
Children sometimes think that.
Adults get angry at the world and we assume the nearest thing caused it.
So I lowered my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Dominic’s head turned sharply.
“What did you say?”
“I’m sorry.”
He crouched immediately.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
His face changed.
“Lily.”
I looked at him.
“You do not apologize because adults missed something.”
My eyes filled.
“Okay.”
“None of this is your fault.”
I nodded.
Then whispered, “Did your mommy promise to take me?”
Dominic looked toward Mrs. Caldwell.
She answered carefully.
“Not exactly.”
My shoulders dropped.
Of course not.
Promises in files were not the same as families.
Dominic noticed.
He lowered himself until our eyes were level.
“My mother promised you wouldn’t be alone.”
I hugged Mr. Bear.
“But she’s gone.”
“Yes.”
“Then promises can go away too.”
Something in his face broke.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that I saw it.
“No,” he said quietly.
“Some promises get passed on.”
I frowned.
“To who?”
He looked at me.
“To people who are still here.”
I didn’t understand completely.
But I wanted to.
Mrs. Caldwell closed the folder.
“Mr. Moretti, you should know that Anna had no surviving parents or siblings listed. We’ve tried extended-family searches several times.”
“What about the father?”
“Unknown.”
Dominic’s voice became quieter.
“Was my mother involved in Lily’s life before Anna died?”
“We don’t know.”
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
A woman stood near the courtyard entrance.
She looked about seventy.
Silver hair.
Walking cane.
Warm face.
Dominic went pale for the third time in ten minutes.
“Aunt Teresa?”
She smiled sadly.
“Hello, Dominic.”
I looked between them.
“Is she your aunt?”
“Yes.”
“Real aunt?”
Dominic almost smiled.
“Yes.”
Teresa Moretti approached slowly.
She looked at me.
Then at the photograph.
Then her eyes filled.
“Oh, Anna.”
She touched the picture with two fingers.
“You knew Mommy too?”
Teresa looked at me.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Everybody knew my mommy except me.”
Nobody knew what to say.
Teresa came closer.
“Would you like me to tell you about her?”
I nodded immediately.
“Yes.”
So we stayed beneath that oak tree for nearly an hour.
Teresa told me my mother loved music.
She sang terribly.
I liked that.
She hated peas.
I hated peas too.
She once rescued a pigeon and kept it in a laundry basket for three days.
Dominic remembered that.
“She named it Professor.”
I laughed.
“Why?”
“Because it looked judgmental.”
I didn’t know what judgmental meant.
But I laughed anyway.
For the first time, my mother stopped being a photograph.
She became a person.
A funny one.
A stubborn one.
A person who helped children.
A person who had friends.
Then Teresa told Dominic the part he did not know.
“Sofia tried to find Anna after Lily was born.”
“Why?”
“Anna left the foundation.”
“When?”
“About six months before the birth.”
“Why?”
Teresa hesitated.
“Because she was frightened.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“Of what?”
“I never knew.”
Teresa looked at me.
Then lowered her voice.
“But she asked Sofia to keep one thing safe.”
My heart started beating faster even though I didn’t know why.
“What thing?” Dominic asked.
Teresa reached into her handbag.
She removed a small brass key.
“I’ve kept this for eleven years.”
Dominic stared at it.
“To what?”
Teresa looked at me.
“Anna said one day it would belong to Lily.”
I reached out.
The key rested in my palm.
Cold.
Small.
Ordinary.
But every adult around me looked as though it had opened a door before we’d even found the lock.
Dominic asked, “Where does it lead?”
Teresa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then she looked at him.
“But Sofia did.”
May you like
And suddenly, the promise Dominic’s mother had made years ago no longer seemed like a forgotten sentence in an old file.
It seemed like the beginning of something she had expected her son to finish.
