Chapter 44: The Secret Inside the Daylight
The wind rustled through the trees outside the estate, whispering secrets into the morning air as Eva stood quietly in the garden, her little hands cupped around a fallen camellia bloom. She had found it by the old fountain, petals still dewy, and now she held it like a treasure, pressing it gently against her chest.
Her slippers made soft sounds against the stone path as she wandered beneath the awning of vines. The air smelled like green things and distant rain. Eva's dress—a pale cream with embroidered ivy along the hem—brushed against her knees as she moved. She didn't run. She rarely did. Instead, she walked with careful grace, as if even her joy had been shaped into gentleness.
Vivienne watched her from the porch. She was dressed casually, barefoot, coffee in one hand, a notepad in the other, though she'd stopped writing long ago. Her eyes followed Eva like the sun follows the curve of the earth—quietly, constantly. Something warm settled in her chest each time she saw the girl among the garden paths. A kind of ache, almost maternal. No, entirely maternal.
She took a step forward. "Did the camellia speak to you today?" she called, her voice teasing.
Eva looked up, startled, then grinned—just a little. "Not today," she replied, lifting the flower. "But it's still very pretty."
Vivienne set her notepad down and walked toward her, heels clicking softly against the stone before she stepped into the grass. She crouched beside Eva, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the girl's ear. "This one's lasted longer than most," she murmured. "Maybe it's waiting for someone to listen properly."
Eva tilted her head, serious in a way only she could be. "Maybe it's just lonely."
Vivienne paused. "Maybe," she agreed softly. "Some things last because they're waiting to be noticed."
Eva looked up at her, and something flickered in her expression—recognition without understanding, like a child glimpsing the edge of a memory they were too young to hold.
Vivienne smiled and rose, offering a hand. "Come on. Let's steal the kitchen's last muffins before your mama finishes her calls."
Eva slipped her hand into hers, small and warm. "She said she'd be busy this morning."
Vivienne squeezed it gently. "Then we'll be sneaky. It's our specialty."
They walked hand in hand through the side door into the kitchen, which was pleasantly warm, filled with the scent of rising dough and faintly burnt cinnamon. A maid was slicing apples at the counter, but she only smiled as the two slipped past.
Vivienne knelt by the bread box, retrieving two small blueberry muffins, one slightly squished. She handed the rounder one to Eva and kept the crumpled one for herself.
Eva bit into hers delicately. "I like when you visit early."
"I live here, sweet pea," Vivienne replied with a smile, brushing crumbs off Eva's chin.
"But it feels like visiting," Eva said. "Because sometimes you're gone too long."
That stopped Vivienne for a breath. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm going to be here more often now. Promise."
"Why?"
Vivienne hesitated. "Because… I missed you."
Eva's eyes searched her face, quiet and sharp. "Did you miss Mama too?"
Vivienne laughed softly. "Yes. Your mama too."
They sat on the warm tiles, the sunlight crawling over them in gold squares. Eva's hair caught the light in soft waves, and Vivienne couldn't help brushing her fingers through it. It had grown longer—Evelyn always said Eva's hair seemed to grow with her thoughts, always curling a little more when she was deep in them.
"Do you want to draw today?" Vivienne asked. "We could make a new map for our secret kingdom."
Eva nodded solemnly. "Only if we use the gold pens. For the border."
"Of course. No border is worth anything without a little gold."
They spent the rest of the morning in Vivienne's study, sprawled across the rug surrounded by markers and parchment. Vivienne labeled rivers with names like Cloudwhisper and Eelberry, while Eva carefully designed intricate palaces that looked suspiciously like the family greenhouse.
They were halfway through a debate about whether the sea monsters should have friendly faces when the study door creaked open.
Evelyn peeked in. Her hair was half-pinned, the rest tumbling over her shoulder. She wore a navy blouse with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons, and her voice was fond. "So this is where the muffin thief ran off to."
Eva perked up. "We only took two!"
"I see the evidence," Evelyn said, crouching beside them. "Sea monsters?"
"Only slightly dangerous ones," Vivienne added, smirking.
Evelyn's eyes softened. "How lucky we are to have a cartographer and a monster tamer under one roof."
Eva beamed.
Evelyn leaned in to kiss the top of Eva's head, then brushed her thumb over Vivienne's ink-stained knuckles. It was barely a touch—quick, casual, and yet not. Vivienne's breath caught just slightly.
"I thought your meeting was until noon," Vivienne said, trying to sound perfectly ordinary.
"I made an excuse," Evelyn said lightly. "The sunlight in here looked too inviting to ignore."
She sat with them for a while, letting Eva show off her designs, nodding along as Vivienne invented elaborate histories for the drawn cities. But eventually, her phone buzzed again, and she sighed, murmuring apologies before rising.
As she left, Vivienne watched her go, then turned back to Eva. "Your mama needs a real vacation."
"Then let's plan one," Eva said, like it was obvious. "For all of us."
Vivienne smiled. "Where should we go?"
"Somewhere warm. With stars."
Vivienne kissed her cheek. "You've got good instincts, starlight."
*****
Later that day, after lunch and a nap that Eva had taken only reluctantly, she wandered toward the back sitting room where Reginald was reading. The curtains were drawn, soft light spilling over the pages of his newspaper. He looked up when she entered.
"There's my girl," he said.
Eva approached slowly. "You weren't at lunch."
"I had a call. Come sit with me?"
She climbed onto the couch beside him and leaned her head against his sleeve. He smelled like pine and the leather of old books.
"Are you mad at me today?" she asked softly.
He blinked. "Why would I be mad at you?"
"Sometimes you are."
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice low. "Sometimes I get quiet, but it's not because of you."
"Because of your work?"
"Sometimes. And sometimes because I don't know how to be… soft."
Eva looked up at him. "You don't have to be soft. You're a castle."
Reginald laughed—startled, but touched. "A castle, huh?"
She nodded. "But even castles have gardens. Mama told me."
He turned a little and pulled her closer. "Then I'll work on my garden. For you."
And Eva, who understood more than a child should, smiled against his side and said nothing.
*****
That evening, as twilight painted the house in lavender and blue, Vivienne found Eva curled up by the tall window near the piano room. She was watching again—across the lawn, toward the neighboring estate.
Seraphina was there, dancing across the yard with a bright scarf in her hand, twirling like she was part of the wind itself.
"She's there again," Eva whispered.
Vivienne didn't ask who. She just sat beside her.
"Do you want to meet her?" she asked gently.
Eva hesitated. "I don't know how."
Vivienne tucked an arm around her. "You don't have to know how. You just have to be curious."
"I'm not like her."
"No," Vivienne agreed. "You're not. But you don't have to be."
Eva was quiet for a moment. "Do you think she'd like me?"
"I'd bet she'd be lucky to meet you," Vivienne said softly. "Anyone would be."
Eva didn't answer. But she leaned into her—warm and trusting.
Outside, Seraphina spun again, scarf catching the breeze like a banner.
And inside, Eva watched, eyes wide with something like longing—but not quite sadness. Something gentler. Like hope, but half-asleep.
*****
Later, when the house had settled into its hush, Evelyn came into Eva's room to check on her. Vivienne was already there, curled on the floor beside the bed with a book open.
"She fell asleep mid-sentence," Vivienne whispered, smiling.
Evelyn leaned over the bed, brushing Eva's curls back. "She's glowing again."
"She always glows," Vivienne murmured.
Evelyn glanced down at her. Their hands met between the edge of the bed and the quiet space of night. "You love her so much."
Vivienne looked up, her voice rough with feeling. "She's everything."
There was a long silence between them, tender and unresolved.
"I wish we could tell her," Vivienne whispered.
Evelyn nodded, fingers tightening slightly. "One day."
They stayed there for a while—Evelyn standing, Vivienne seated, Eva asleep between them like a secret wrapped in starlight. Outside, the moon began its slow climb. Inside, a mother and another mother waited, loving a child who had no idea just how fiercely she was cherished.