Chapter 5 - The Woman in the Photograph
The photograph changed the atmosphere of the nursery.
Noah asked to keep it beside his bed. Alexander told him stories about
Clara’s terrible singing, her habit of putting cinnamon in everything,
and the way she used to dance barefoot in the kitchen.
Noah listened with his knees tucked beneath his chin.
“Did Mommy like pancakes?” he asked.
“She loved pancakes.”
“More than waffles?”
“Much more.”
Noah looked at me.
“Emma makes good pancakes.”
Alexander smiled.
“She does.”
I turned away before either of them could see how much that simple
exchange meant.
Later that afternoon, I found a small envelope beneath the photograph.
It had been tucked behind the frame. On the front, in neat handwriting,
was one word:
Alexander.
I did not open it.
I carried it to his study.
He recognized the handwriting immediately.
“Clara.”
He sat down before opening it.
The letter was short. Clara had written it during the last months of her
illness.
She told him she was afraid he would disappear into work after she was
gone. She asked him to let Noah speak about her, even when it hurt. She
asked him not to make their son feel that loving someone new meant
betraying her memory.
The final paragraph made Alexander stop reading.
If you ever find someone who is kind to our boy, don’t ask her to become
me. Let her be herself. Noah will know the difference. He needs people
who stay because they care, not because you have given them a title.
Alexander read the last line twice.
I stood near the door, unsure whether to leave.
“She knew,” he said.
“Knew what?”
“That I would try to replace what I lost with schedules and money.”
He folded the letter carefully.
“She also knew Noah would need more than me.”
I thought of the way he had sat on the nursery floor the night before,
telling stories until his voice grew rough.
“He needs you most.”
“I know that now.”
He looked at me.
“Clara would have liked you.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t know that.”
“No. I suppose I don’t.”
He put the letter back into the envelope.
“But I know she would have wanted me to treat you fairly.”
I was quiet.
“Emma, I don’t want you to feel that you have to stay because Noah
called you Mommy. I won’t use that against you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d like you to stay, if you want to. Not as a replacement for Clara.
Not as someone who has to be available every hour. We can write a proper
contract, with clear hours and time off. You can decide whether the work
is right for you.”
I looked at him.
“And if I leave?”
“Then we make a transition plan for Noah. We don’t punish you, and we
don’t tell him you stopped caring.”
I felt the knot in my chest loosen.
“That is all I wanted.”
He nodded.
For the first time, the decision was mine.
That evening, Noah asked if I would read him a story. I sat beside his
bed, and he chose the rabbit who lost his way.
When I finished, he pointed at the photograph.
“Can Mommy hear the story?”
I took a breath.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But we can tell her anyway.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at me.
“Can I still call you Emma?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
He thought about it.
“And can I call you Mommy sometimes when I miss her?”
I brushed his hair away from his forehead.
“You can tell me when you miss her. You don’t have to call me anything
special.”
He considered that, then hugged his rabbit.
“Okay.”
May you like
It was the first time he had let the word go without feeling that he was
losing someone.
