Chapter 7 - The Library of Lost Things
The children's section of the public library was quiet, smelling of old paper and dust motes dancing in the pale winter light. I sat at a small wooden table near the back, a drawing pad and a set of colored pencils in front of me.
My heart was beating in a slow, heavy rhythm.
At exactly 12:05, the sound of soft, polished shoes squeaked against the linoleum. I looked up.
Regina, Lucy, and Valerie walked in, holding Maria’s hands. They wore their matching beige coats, but their hoods were down, exposing their dark, curly hair—hair that looked exactly like Chloe's.
When they saw me, they stopped.
The middle girl, Lucy, took a step forward. Her eyes fell to my forearm, where the sleeve was rolled up, exposing the scarred compass.
"It's you," she whispered.
I got down on one knee, resting my hands on my thighs to keep them from shaking. "Hi, girls," I said softly.
"Are you the soldier?" Valerie asked, her voice small and curious. "The one with the magic compass?"
"I was a soldier," I said, pulling the sketch pad toward me. I flipped the page to reveal a drawing I had made the night before—a sketch of the four of them, including Chloe, standing under a massive, unbroken compass that pointed toward a small cabin in the woods. "But now, I'm just a dad. And I've been looking for you for a very long time."
Regina stepped closer, her small fingers reaching out to touch the paper. "You draw like Mommy. She has a book of drawings just like this."
"She does?" I smiled, a tear finally escaping and slipping down my cheek.
"Yes," Lucy said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small, worn piece of blue paper. She handed it to me.
I unfolded it. It was the original napkin from The Blue Slipper diner in Seattle, the ink faded but still legible. On it was my handwriting: “Maybe lost people deserve a symbol too.”
"She told us that if we ever got lost, we should look for the man who carried the other half," Lucy said, her green eyes locking onto mine with an intelligence that went far beyond her seven years. "Are you our daddy?"
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I choked back a sob, pulling all three of them into my arms. They were warm, smelling of lavender and winter air. They clung to me as if they had known my touch their entire lives.
"Yes," I whispered into their hair. "I am your daddy. And I promise you, I'm never letting you go again."
