Todos os capítulos de The Whispers of my heart: Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

The master bedroom sat at the end of the long hallway, just past the old family portrait from Sophia’s high school graduation. The door was slightly ajar, the soft glow of a single lamp spilling into the hall like a secret.Inside, the room was a quiet testament to a lifetime together.The walls were painted a soft sage green — Margaret’s choice, back when they first moved into the house, a color meant to bring calm. The large oak bed, worn at the edges but still strong, stood centered beneath a window framed by faded floral curtains. A thick wool blanket — handmade by Margaret’s mother — lay folded at the foot, its stitches uneven but full of love.On either side of the bed, nightstands held the marks of time: Robert’s, cluttered with reading glasses, a dog-eared copy of The Old Man and the Sea, and a silver picture of Sophia as a little girl, riding Duke for the first time, her arms wide, her laugh frozen in time. Margaret’s was neater — a journal, a pen, a small bottle of lavender o

The room no longer felt like a room. It felt like a confession.Her breath shook. Her thoughts came hard and fast, spinning out of control.Should she call the police?The idea rose quickly, desperate and instinctive, but she crushed it down. No. That wasn’t right. Calling them would mean telling the world that her daughter was missing, stolen, in danger. But Sophia hadn’t been stolen. She hadn’t been taken. She had left. And she had left with purpose.If she called the police, it would turn this heartbreak into a spectacle. Strangers in uniforms would walk through the halls, touching Sophia’s belongings, asking questions they didn’t deserve answers to. Worse, it would make Sophia feel hunted, as if her choice had been a crime. It would feel like punishment. And Margaret knew in her bones that forcing her back would not mend what was already broken. It would only deepen the fracture.Her hands trembled. She touched the desk, the journal, the page with her daughter’s handwriting etched

A hand on her shoulder.Gentle.Familiar.She didn’t turn.But she didn’t pull away.Robert stepped closer.Slowly, carefully, as if she might shatter, he wrapped his arms around her.She didn’t resist.She leaned into him.And just like that, the dam cracked.Not with a sob.Not with a cry.But with a slow, silent release — her body sagging against his, her breath hitching, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.He held her.Not to fix it.Not to tell her it was okay.Just to be there.“I know,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I know, my love.”She didn’t speak.Couldn’t.But he understood.Because he felt it too.The loss.The regret.The fear.Their daughter — their only daughter — the little girl who had danced in the kitchen in her pajamas, who had painted his face with markers, who had whispered “I love you, Daddy” every night before bed — was no longer in the house.She was out there.Somewhere.On a road.In a car.With a heart full of love and a soul fu

One thing for sure was that they were going to call Daniel.And the sooner they start, the better.Margaret reached out for her phone to call him.she found it — saved under Daniel Harper, from a message Robert had once forwarded about a summer barbecue.She stared at the name.Her breath came fast.What if he hates me?What if he hangs up?What if he blames me?But then she thought of Sophia — her face, her voice, the way she had looked at her the night before, like she no longer knew who her mother was.And she pressed Call.It rang.Once.Twice.Then a soft click.And then — his voice.“Hello?”It was calm.Gentle.Like nothing had happened.Like he hadn’t been told to leave.Like he hadn’t been ordered to sever all contact.Like he hadn’t walked out of their home with his heart in pieces.“Daniel,” Margaret said, her voice barely above a whisper.“Mrs. Thomas?” There was no anger. No coldness. Just quiet surprise. “Hi. How are you?”She froze.How are you?After everything?After t

The road unspooled before him like a promise.Daniel gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, foot steady on the gas. The city had long vanished behind him, replaced by open fields, rolling hills, and the occasional flicker of a roadside diner or gas station flashing past in a blur. It was still morning — the sun high enough to burn off the mist, but low enough to cast long, golden shadows across the asphalt. Birds darted between power lines. A hawk circled above a meadow. The world was awake, but quiet.And Daniel drove faster.Not recklessly.Not wildly.But with purpose — each mile a prayer, each turn of the wheel a vow.He didn’t check his speed.Didn’t care about the signs.All that mattered was the place in his mind — the one hidden behind trees, untouched by time, where the air smelled like earth and wildflowers, where the water was still enough to hold the sky.Where she would be.Because he knew her.Not just her smile.Not just the way she tucked her hair behind her ear wh