Chapter 5. Only My Mum Knew

That evening, Lily climbed into my lap during story time again. She didn't ask permission - she simply settled against me as though it was the most natural thing in the world, tucked one leg beneath her, opened the book between us, and waited for me to begin.

I looked down at her for a moment before opening the first page. "Ready?"

She nodded.

I started reading, my voice filling the quiet bedroom while the last light of evening slipped through the curtains, Lily leaning comfortably against me, one small hand wrapped loosely around my arm as though she needed to be certain I was still there.

After several pages, I realized I hadn't absorbed a single word of the story. I was too aware of her, of the way she trusted me, the way she relaxed around me, and the way holding her felt strangely familiar.

Too familiar. It frightened me.

"Are you sad?"

I looked down. "No."

"You look sad."

I smiled gently. "I'm fine."

She continued studying my face, clearly unconvinced. Then, with heartbreaking care, she reached up and touched my cheek. "You can tell me if you're sad."

The simple kindness in her voice stole the air from my lungs.

Before I could answer, a familiar voice interrupted from the doorway. "How is she?"

I looked up. Damian Blackwood stood there with one hand resting against the doorframe, as always perfectly composed, his dark suit immaculate and his expression unreadable, but his attention immediately went to Lily.

The moment she heard his voice, something inside her shifted. She didn't move away from me or panic, but the relaxed ease she had shown moments earlier disappeared behind quiet caution, her shoulders straightening slightly as she became careful.

Damian noticed, his gaze lingering on his daughter before moving to me.

"She's doing well," I said.

He gave a single nod. "Walk with me."

I carefully helped Lily off my lap. "I'll only be gone for a few minutes."

Her fingers caught mine before I could step away. "You promise?"

The question seemed to surprise even her.

I smiled. "I promise."

Only then did she release my hand, watching me until I disappeared into the corridor.

Damian waited until we were far enough away before speaking. "Your file arrived from the agency."

"I assumed it would."

"Edinburgh."

"Yes."

"The recommendation was unusually detailed."

There was something deliberate about the way he said it.

"I've worked with children for several years."

"That wasn't my question."

I looked at him. He stopped walking, and so did I. For several seconds he simply studied me, his expression remaining controlled, but something unsettled moved behind his eyes, as though he was trying to understand something that refused to make sense.

"Why did you accept this position?"

"Because Lily needed someone."

His gaze sharpened slightly. "Four nannies resigned before you."

"I know."

"And that didn't concern you?"

"It did."

"Yet you came anyway."

I held his stare. "Someone had to stay."

Silence stretched between us. Finally, he spoke quietly. "Lily doesn't trust people."

"Children can surprise us."

He shook his head. "No. You don't understand." His eyes moved briefly toward Lily's room. "Lily doesn't attach herself to people." A pause followed. "Not doctors. Not teachers. Not relatives." His voice lowered. "Not even the women who cared for her before." Then he looked back at me. "She has never looked at anyone the way she looks at you."

The words stayed between us. I didn't know what to say, because I had felt it too - the strange familiarity, the impossible connection, the way a child I had met only days ago felt like someone I had lost years ago.

"Until now," I finally said.

Something unreadable crossed his face. "Until now."

Another silence followed before his expression hardened. "I protect what belongs in this house."

It wasn't a simple statement. It was a warning.

I met his eyes without hesitation. "So do I."

For one brief moment, surprise flickered across his face, then the mask returned, and without another word, he walked away. I watched him disappear down the corridor.

Damian Blackwood didn't trust me. And the more Lily trusted me, the more dangerous I became to whatever secrets this house was protecting.

The sixth night arrived quietly. Lily sat in the bathtub, happily moving her rubber ducks through the water while I washed her hair, and for the first time since entering Blackwood Manor, everything felt ordinary. No suspicion, no unanswered questions, just a child laughing.

Then Lily began humming, and my hands stopped moving.

The melody was soft and absent-minded, the kind of song a child might sing without realizing it mattered. But I knew it - every note, every pause, every change in rhythm - and my heart began pounding.

"Lily."

She looked up. "Yes?"

"Where did you hear that song?"

She tilted her head. "I don't know."

Cold spread through me. "Can you sing it again?"

She smiled and started humming once more. Again. Perfectly. The same melody I had created five years ago - the lullaby I had made while waiting for the child I thought I would never get to raise.

I remembered sitting alone in my apartment, terrified and hopeful, with both hands resting over my stomach, whispering those notes to my unborn daughter. And after she was born, I remembered holding her against my chest.

Seven hours. That was all I had. Seven precious hours before she was taken from me, before the world told me my daughter was gone.

Nobody knew that song. Nobody.

"Lily..." My voice barely sounded like my own. "Who taught you this?"

She frowned. "No one."

"Then how do you know it?"

She looked down at the water. "I dream it."

The answer sent a chill through me. "You dream it?"

She nodded. "I've always dreamed it."

I couldn't move. "In the dream, someone sings it."

My fingers tightened around the towel. "Who?"

She looked thoughtful. "I don't know." A small pause followed. "I can't see her face."

My heartbeat grew louder. "But she's always there."

I swallowed. "Who is she?"

Lily looked at me, then her expression changed. "When you came here..." She reached for my hand. "The dream changed."

I stared at her. "I could see her face."

The room became completely silent.

"Lily..."

Her fingers wrapped around mine. "It was you."

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. For five years I had searched for answers, chased every rumor, followed every impossible lead, and held onto hope when everyone told me there was nothing left to find.

And now the child I had lost was looking at me with memories that should never have belonged to anyone else.

My daughter had remembered me. Even when I was gone.