Chapter 27 - The Silent VisitorWhen Eleanor was six months old, a package arrived at our private residence. It had passed through three security screenings before being delivered to my desk.
It was a small wooden box, unpainted and rough. Inside was a single item: a small, silver hand-carved lullaby music box, accompanied by a short card from a hospital chaplain in New Jersey.
Dear Mrs. Sterling,
I am writing to inform you of the passing of your mother, Eleanor Mercer, who succumbed to heart failure early yesterday morning at St. Jude’s Hospice Facility.
Per her instructions, her personal estate was used to clear her remaining medical bills, and this music box—an heirloom passed down from her own grandmother—was retained to be delivered to you upon her death.
In her final days, she asked me to deliver a message to you: 'Tell Claire that the music box plays the tune her grandmother used to sing. Tell her I am sorry I forgot the song.'
I held the small wooden box in my hands. I turned the brass key on the side and set it on my desk.
May you like
The sweet, delicate melody of an old lullaby filled the quiet room. I sat back in my chair, listening to the notes fade into the afternoon air.
I didn't weep. I didn't rage. I simply let the music play until the spring wound down, acknowledging the quiet ending of a story that had begun long before I was born.
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