The Notebook Parents Guide Novels & Stories

"I don't believe it! You all despise me! You just want to see me fail! Mom and Dad are dead, no one can prove anything—you can say whatever you want!" "I have proof!" I reached into my bag and pulled out an old notebook. It had been my parents' diary, discovered among their belongings after their fatal car accident. I had carried it with me all these years, waiting for the day I could give it to my brother in person. "This is Mom's diary. Read it yourself!" I tossed the notebook toward him. Rick caught it instinctively. The wind ruffled the yellowed pages, revealing Mom's neat handwriting.

That is a clue, if nothing else. This can't be Taran Harker, can it? But if it isn't, then who is this child? How did my father get this photograph, and why did he keep it? I grab the notebook from which it fell and flip open the soft leather cover. Inside, I find the neat scrawl of my father's handwriting. The notebooks at the top of this box were full of scribbles and lists - my father's notes on his various projects, addresses he wished to remember, thoughts about galleries he'd visited or investment opportunities he was researching. This notebook is different. In fact, it looks like a journal.

Shirley lowered her gaze, glanced at it, her pupils suddenly constricted in recognition. It was an old and aged little notebook. She knew it so well that she could still remember where the brown stain on the cover came from. “You should still be able to recognize dad’s notebook, right? You should still be familiar with dad’s handwriting too. I found this when I was packing mom’s and dad’s belongings after they’d passed away. You ought to read dad’s diary entry back then and see for yourself whether they had loved you or had wanted to abandon you.” Shirley stared at the notebook for a long time, but she did not take it, laughing absent-mindedly instead.

"Because Mom didn't tell them yet either. And if she didn't, there's a reason. We can't mess that up." She nodded slowly. "Okay. But you’ll tell me everything you find, right?" "Promise." Her grin returned, softer this time. "Good. Then hurry up and finish your spy stuff, so we can play." But Nathaniel was already saving files. He worked in steps, just as his mother had taught him. A hidden folder called Homework2 looked normal: Math, Science, Reading. Inside were screenshots, saved links, files named Family-1, Board Trouble, Natasha-2. He showed Charlotte how they looked harmless.

"A surprise? What is it, Daddy?" Axel reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small notebook. "This is a special notebook for you, Theo. It's where you can write down all your big ideas and dreams. Just like Daddy does." Theo gasped in delight, taking the notebook in his hands with reverence. "Thank you, Daddy! I'll write down everything I want to do when I grow up." Axel tousled Theo's hair affectionately. "I know you'll do great things, Theo. Remember, dreams are meant to be chased."

Something else beneath both. “Then Victor didn’t just want to control the outcome,” she said. “He wanted to shape it.” The rink went quiet again. Different this time. Sharper. Agent Bennett exhaled slowly. “Which means whatever is in that notebook—” “—is more dangerous than the financial records,” Jaxon finished. I closed the notebook gently. Held it against my chest. That felt right. Instinctive. Protective. My mother had written this for me. Not for the FBI.

This office that has always felt safe now felt like a crime scene. My fingers drifted across the bookshelf, across the neat rows of accounting textbooks. I stopped when I noticed there was no dust on one part of the shelf. Something roughly the size of a notebook has been sitting there. Dad kept dozens of notebooks because he always wrote down everything. Meeting notes, ideas, random thoughts. He always trusted paper more than computers. Then why is one missing? Someone must have removed that notebook. The question is, who?

However, the innocent play session took an unexpected turn when they accidentally knocked over a stack of their father's old notebooks. Curiosity ignited, Kyle picked up a dusty notebook and began flipping through pages filled with complex equations and diagrams. Kelly peered over his shoulder, their eyes widening with amazement at the cryptic symbols that seemed like a secret code. Intrigued, Kelly asked, "What's all this, Kyle?" pointing to a particularly intricate diagram. With a mischievous grin, Kyle whispered, "I think it's Dad's secret AI code! Maybe we can use it for our 'Family Helper.'"

It's a lovely future, one full of sunshine and love. I want that future. Damn it, we deserve that future. "My mom kept a notebook hidden away somewhere in here," he pulls out drawers on the table holding the 3-D printer. The crisp click of a latch opening is followed by Atlas' triumphant, "There it is." as he wiggles a thick leather-bound notebook from a hidden compartment. "Now we just need to find the right page," he sighs as he sets the book on the surface of the table, unleashing a small cloud of dust.

“Harmon can prepare it in three hours if we give him everything we have.” “Then we give him everything.” She reached for the notebook. Stopped. Looked at Elliot. “This is yours,” she said. “You decide what happens to it.” He looked at the notebook. At his father’s handwriting. At fourteen years of a dead man’s work sitting in a box because a nineteen-year-old boy had been too lost in grief to understand what he was holding. He picked it up. Held it for one moment. “File it,” he said. “All of it. Tonight.”