Chapter 2

The automatic lights in the hallway flickered out behind us.

I squeezed Daisy's hand a little tighter and quickened my pace.

My left hand subconsciously reached down, pulling the thick metal cuff further down my wrist before shoving my hand deep into my coat pocket.

Once we got back to The Little Elephant Library, I sent Daisy over to the reading corner to play.

"Cassie, that's the third one this week."

Luna walked over and placed a termination notice on the counter in front of me.

I picked up a red marker and drew a thick line through "Springfield Preschool" on our monthly schedule board.

The reason listed was the exact same corporate jargon as the others: "Per higher management's directive, we are adjusting our external partnership list."

"I had a friend look into it," Luna whispered, leaning in close.

"All three of these preschools are heavily funded by CasStart Academy. That Ethan guy... he's the founder of CasStart, right? Is he trying to ruin you?"

The tip of my marker froze on the paper.

The red ink bled into a perfect, bleeding dot on the white page.

I capped the marker with a sharp click.

"Don't overthink it."

I pushed my coffee cup aside and pulled out a stack of blank sketching paper.

"Go ahead and prep the watercolor palettes for tomorrow. We still have a picture-book class in the morning."

On the service road outside the library, a sleek black Maybach sat idling under the sycamore trees.

Ethan leaned back against the driver's seat.

Through the windshield, his eyes locked onto our two figures—one tall, one small—as we disappeared around the corner.

He tapped his Bluetooth earpiece.

"Mr. Vance, the background check you requested is still processing. The child's birth certificate is a bit tricky. There's no biological father listed in the state registry. We're still digging."

Ethan's fingers tapped rhythmically against the leather steering wheel.

"Don't stop. Keep digging."

"I want to know exactly who has been hiding in her life for the past five years."

He hung up.

On the passenger seat lay a worn-out watercolor brush.

The little girl had dropped it earlier.

He picked it up, his thumb slowly brushing over the faded, chipped paint on the wooden handle.

Nine o'clock at night.

After her bath, Daisy crawled onto the bed, smelling of baby soap. She immediately grabbed my left hand.

"Mommy, can I wear this bracelet? It's so pretty."

Her tiny fingers picked at the heavy metal buckle, trying to undo it.

I pulled my hand back gently.

"Not this one, baby."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I ran my hand through her damp hair. "Because this is Mommy's lucky charm. If I take it off, the magic goes away."

Daisy blinked her big eyes, pondered that for a moment, and accepted it.

She rolled over and pulled a worn-out picture book from under her pillow.

"Then tell me the story of the little elephant!"

I smiled, taking the book from her.

As my fingers brushed the bottom-right corner of the back cover, they felt a rough patch. It was a long strip of paper heavily blacked out with a sharpie.

Deep, thick, and permanent.

It had been scribbled over dozens of times.

I stared at the black block for a long moment.

Then, I opened the cover and began reading the story of the little elephant looking for its mother.

The edges of the pages were yellowed and frayed.

It was a hand-drawn storybook.

Half an hour later, Daisy's breathing slowed into a steady rhythm.

I closed the book, set it on the nightstand, and switched off the lamp.

I sat down on the rug beside her bed.

My right fingers traced the silver cuff on my left wrist.

Over and over again.

In the dark, the old picture book lay silently.

Beneath that thick, ugly block of black marker, there was once a line written in elegant, passionate fountain pen ink:

"To my Cassie. You are the beginning of all my inspiration."