Chapter 7: The Notebook

At the bottom of the shoebox was the little notebook Charles had carried in his shirt pocket every day, and suddenly I was afraid to open it… Continue Reading ⬇️

The entries were short.

Dated.

Careful.

“Charlotte smiled today. First time all week.”

“Promotion day. She acted like it wasn’t important. It was.”

“Her mother is gone. Ask tomorrow if she managed to sleep.”

Page after page.

Year after year.

Everything I thought no one had seen, Charles had noticed.

Not because it was dramatic.

Because it was mine.

At the end of the notebook, there was a folded letter with my name written across the front.

Charles wrote that he knew about the jokes. He knew people pitied me for sitting with the janitor. He knew they thought I was lowering myself.

Then a photograph slipped from the final page and landed in my lap.

It showed a young woman standing beside Charles, smiling brightly.

For one breathless second, I thought I was looking at myself.

I turned it over.

On the back, in Charles’s handwriting, were two words.

“My daughter.” Continue Reading ⬇️