PART 3 — THE SONG THAT SHOULD HAVE STAYED BURIED
Michael looked between Nora, Caroline, and the crying child.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
Nora stepped forward slowly.
Her hands trembled.
“The night Mrs. Grace disappeared, she called me from the clinic. She was crying. She said if anything happened to her baby, Ellen Harper would know where to look.”
Caroline snapped, “Grace was confused. She was unstable.”
Michael’s eyes hardened.
“Don’t say her name like that.”
The room fell quiet again.
Mia held out the music box with both hands.
“Please,” she whispered. “I don’t know why she gave it to me. I just promised.”
Michael knelt in front of her.
The entire ballroom watched as the billionaire lowered himself onto the marble floor before a poor little girl in muddy shoes.
He took the music box.
Caroline stepped forward quickly.
“Michael, don’t.”
He looked up at her.
“Why not?”
“Because this is a trick.”
His voice was quiet.
“Then why are you scared?”
No one breathed.
Michael untied the faded pink ribbon and opened the lid.
A soft melody began to play.
It was small and delicate, almost swallowed by the size of the ballroom. But Michael heard every note. His face broke before the first line ended.
He knew that melody.
Grace had played it once years ago, unfinished, laughing as she told him it was for their daughter.
He had never heard the completed version.
Until now.
His hand trembled so hard the box almost slipped.
Inside the lid, hidden beneath the velvet lining, was a folded photograph.
Michael pulled it out.
The picture showed Grace in a hospital bed, pale but smiling, holding a newborn baby wrapped in a pink blanket.
On the back, written in Grace’s handwriting, were seven words.
Michael, they told you I left. I didn’t.
Mia stared at the photograph.
Then at Michael.
“That baby…” she whispered.
Michael could not answer.
Nora began crying openly.
Caroline stepped backward.
Michael turned the photograph again. At the bottom was a date.
Nine years ago.
The same night Grace vanished.
The same night Michael had been told his wife abandoned him.
The same night he had been told his daughter died before birth.
Slowly, Michael looked at Mia’s face.
Her eyes.
Her mouth.
The tiny birthmark near her left eyebrow.
Grace had the same birthmark.
Michael’s voice broke.
“What is your birthday?”
Mia whispered the date.
Michael closed his eyes.
The room seemed to tilt beneath him.
When he opened them again, tears were running down his face.
Caroline turned toward the exit.
Nora pointed at her.
“She knew.”
Every guest turned.
Michael stood slowly.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“She knew what?”
Nora wiped her tears with shaking hands.
“She was at the clinic that night.”
Caroline’s perfect mask cracked.
“Nora, stop.”
May you like
But Nora did not stop.
Not this time.
