CHAPTER 5 — The Child Who Remembers Too Much
Ivy did not understand danger.
But she understood presence.
Julian knelt beside her later that day in the garden.
No audience.
No staff.
Just quiet air and sunlight over trimmed hedges.
He placed the hummingbird charm in her small hand.
“Does this feel familiar to you?” he asked gently.
Ivy turned it over.
Then shook her head.
“No.”
A pause.
Then she added:
“It feels… warm.”
Julian’s breath tightened slightly.
“Warm?”
Ivy nodded.
“Like when Mommy sings at night.”
Mara froze behind them.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly, “we don’t sing—”
But Julian raised a hand slightly.
“Let her speak.”
Ivy looked at him.
“You were there,” she said suddenly.
Julian went still.
Mara’s breath caught.
“What do you mean?” Julian asked quietly.
Ivy frowned slightly, struggling.
“The room was white. You were holding me.”
A pause.
“You were crying but trying not to.”
Silence broke something in Julian.
Mara stepped forward quickly.
“She’s three,” she said. “She doesn’t remember things like—”
Julian interrupted softly.
“Some children do.”
He looked at Ivy differently now.
Not as a mystery.
As confirmation.
May you like
And then he said something no one expected:
“I think I lost something I was never supposed to forget.”
