EPILOGUE — Norah
Norah looked at us.
Lauren nodded.
We followed Gail up to the second floor, where the door to the former guest bedroom stood open.
The queen bed was gone, replaced by a smaller bed with a purple quilt. A bookshelf stood beside the window. Glow-in-the-dark stars covered the ceiling, and a little rug lay across part of the wooden floor.
On the door, painted in slightly uneven purple letters, was a single word.
Norah.
Our daughter stopped in the hallway.
For several seconds, she didn’t move.
Then she walked up to the door and carefully traced the letters with her fingertips.
“Grandma, is this really my room?”
Gail knelt beside her.
“Yes, sweetheart. It’s your room. And it should’ve been yours a long time ago.”
Norah turned to her grandmother.
“Can I put my books here?”
“As many as you like.”
“And my rabbit?”
Gail smiled through her tears.
“Especially your rabbit.”
Norah hugged her.
Lauren stood beside me, wiping her eyes. I slid my arm around her shoulders, and for once, neither of us felt the need to say anything.
We stayed for Easter brunch but drove home that evening. Norah wanted to sleep in her own bed, and Gail accepted that without protest.
Over the following months, things shifted slowly. Gail still sometimes favored Janine’s children without noticing, but Lauren no longer stayed silent. Rich began calling Norah every Sunday to ask about school, and Janine made an effort to include her niece in family plans.
Nobody pretended the past had vanished.
That summer, Norah finally spent a weekend at the farmhouse.
When we came to pick her up, I found her upstairs, lining up three paperback books on her new shelf. Her stuffed rabbit leaned against the purple pillow, and a drawing of a bird was taped beside the window.
“Ready to go, bug?” I asked.
“Almost, Daddy.”
She stepped into the hallway, looked at the purple letters on her door, and smiled.
Then she pulled it gently shut behind her.
For years, she had carried her little suitcase past five other children’s bedrooms, wondering why there was no place for her.
This time, she left knowing there was one waiting when she came back.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
