Chapter 110: The Day the Sky Almost Fell
Time, for a child, doesn't move in minutes. It moves in moods. And on that morning, time felt jagged. Sharp. Not like the syrupy hours that used to stretch over Seraphina's lap or hum through violin strings. This time moved like a blade.
Eva sat very still in the hallway outside her mother's study, legs crossed beneath her like a little porcelain doll. Her face was unreadable, but her hands were curled into tight fists against the skirt of her pale blue dress. She wasn't supposed to be listening. She knew that. But her heart had snagged on a word she hadn't meant to hear:
"We'll be leaving for F••••• by the end of the week," her papa Reginald had said.
"Just us," her Maman added. "We'll sort the estate matters. She's young. It'll be easier for Eva if she stays in her rhythm here."
But Eva hadn't heard the just us part.
All she heard was leaving. And F•••••. And by the end of the week.
Her breath caught in her chest, sharp and panicked. She didn't even realize she'd started crying until her vision blurred, her lashes sticky with salt. Something inside her cracked open, spilling over. The silence of the hallway felt too wide. Too loud. She rose slowly, like her bones didn't quite fit right anymore, and walked away — no direction in mind except not here.
Eva driving her solar electric toy car.
"Ina," she whispered, broken. "Ina."
The garden had no sun that afternoon. Even the birdsong seemed quieter, hushed by some shared sorrow. And there, under the olive tree with a book open and a mug of tea cooling at her side, sat Seraphina — unaware that her world was about to be flooded by Eva's despair.
Seraphina looked up just in time to see the tiny girl barreling toward her, barefoot, cheeks wet, mouth trembling. Her whole body was a cry.
"Eva?"
Eva didn't answer. She dropped to her knees and crawled up into Seraphina's lap as if it were the only place in the world not crumbling apart. The sobs came loose the moment her cheek touched Seraphina's chest.
"I don't wanna go," she cried. "Ina, please don't let them take me."
Seraphina froze, startled, then softened all at once. One arm instinctively circled Eva's back.
"What are you talking about, little moonbeam?"
"We're leaving! My Maman and papa—they said we're going back. To F•••••. This week."
A long silence. Even the leaves seemed to pause in their fluttering.
"Oh, sweet girl…"
Seraphina shifted, pulling Eva fully into her arms, letting the child straddle her waist the way she always did when comfort was needed. One hand stroked her hair, the other held her tightly. She rocked slightly, humming low, a melody known only to them.
"No one's taking you away from me," she whispered. "You misunderstood. They're going. But you're staying."
Eva's sniffles stuttered. "Really?"
"Really."
The tension collapsed out of her like a popped balloon. She melted into Seraphina's arms, all wet cheeks and relieved limbs. Then came the kisses — desperate, thankful, scattered. On the cheek, on the corner of her jaw, on her shoulder.
"Ina," she mumbled between kisses, still hiccuping from the sobs. "I thought — I thought I'd die."
"You're very dramatic," Seraphina murmured into her curls, smiling softly. "But I would miss you just the same."
Vivienne caught it all.
She hadn't meant to intrude. She'd come down to bring Seraphina a book and some tea biscuits. But the moment she heard Eva's teary cries and peeked through the hedges — there they were. The two of them, curled up in a human knot under the olive tree.
Vivienne leaned against the stone pillar, phone in hand, recording.
Eva straddled across Seraphina's lap like she belonged there, arms looped around her neck, murmuring nonsense into her skin. Seraphina, ever the indulgent sun to Eva's orbit, ran her fingers lazily through the child's soft curls.
"She's like a baby lemur," Vivienne muttered to herself, amused. "And Seraphina's the only tree she'll cling to."
She sent the video to Evelyn with the caption:
Our daughter has been claimed. Full custody by one Miss Seraphina Yue Langford. You may retrieve her at age eighteen — if allowed.
Evelyn's response came back with a laughing emoji and a simple:
Let the child have her attachments. At least she's happy.
That evening, the house grew quieter.
Eva stood at the top of the stairs, watching her parents' luggage roll away into the waiting car. Her Maman kissed her forehead and whispered, "We'll write often. And video call. Be good for Aunt Vivienne. And listen to your Ina."
Eva didn't answer. She just clung to Seraphina's hand and nodded.
Once the door shut behind them, she stood there for a long moment, holding her breath like the silence might break if she exhaled.
It didn't.
She turned, pulled Seraphina's hand toward her, and mumbled, "Can I sleep in your bed again tonight?"
"You don't even have to ask anymore," Seraphina replied.
The room felt warmer than usual. Or maybe that was just Eva's body curled tightly into Seraphina's side, arms wrapped around her waist. Her face was tucked under Seraphina's chin, lips still faintly pink from a day's worth of kisses. She murmured now and then in her sleep, nothing coherent, just sounds of comfort and closeness.
Seraphina, no longer pretending this was temporary, kissed her forehead and whispered, "Mine."
In the days that followed, Eva became gravity itself.
Wherever Seraphina went, Eva followed.
Reading? Eva was there, curled up against her side, cheek pressed to her arm.
Violin practice? Eva dragged her own tiny instrument beside Seraphina's, bowing gently, copying movements she barely understood.
Walking in the garden? Eva's hand was in hers, small and warm and insistent.
Afternoon tea? Eva insisted she stir both their cups, even if she spilled a little sugar.
If Seraphina sat down, Eva was in her lap. Always. Straddled, clinging, arms around her neck like an ivy that had decided she'd found the only wall worth climbing.
"Ina," Eva whispered one morning, forehead resting against her collarbone. "Do you think we'll always be like this?"
"Like what?"
"You holding me like I'm not annoying."
Seraphina laughed, soft and startled. "You are absolutely annoying."
Eva giggled. "But you still let me be here."
"I'd let you live in my pocket if you could fit."
Eva leaned up and kissed her chin. "You're my favorite pocket."
Poetry returned with a vengeance.
Eva was never without her little notebook now. Her emotions were bigger than her body. Her words poured out like confetti in the form of verse. And her muse — always — was Seraphina.
Unda capillorum tuorum — tempestas dulcis,
et ego naufragus laetus in amorem.
The wave of your hair — a sweet storm,
and I, a happy castaway in love.
Pallor rubens in pupilla tua,
ignis frigore tectus, me allicit.
The blushing pallor in your pupil,
a fire veiled in frost, draws me near.
Amor meus non timet flammae coloris,
nec fluctus capillorum rubentium.
My love fears not the flame's hue,
nor the waves of red hair that burn.
Quis oculis ignotis resistat?
In rubore tuo, fatiscado.
Who could resist such unknown eyes?
In your blush, I come undone.
Oculi rubri, capilli flammei —
arsissem mille vices pro uno visu.
Red eyes, flame - touched hair —
I'd burn a thousand times for one glance.
Seraphina read each poem with the awe of someone watching the sky write sonnets. She saved them. Memorized them. Pressed one into her diary between petals and scraps of ribbon. She didn't always know what to say in return. So she held Eva tighter. Let her crawl into bed without asking. Let her read her heart out in whispers beside her ear.
"You love too hard for someone so small," she told Eva one night.
Eva looked up, solemn. "But my heart's big. It just got packed into a small space."
One last video from Aunt Vivienne.
It was dusk. Seraphina had fallen asleep on the chaise lounge, book folded over her stomach. Eva had crawled on top of her, her head on her shoulder, one arm around her waist. Even in slumber, her little fingers clutched at Seraphina's dress like an anchor.
Vivienne, once again hiding behind a hedge, whispered into her camera:
"Six years old and already more romantic than I've ever been in my life."
That night, Eva dreamed of being the moon.
She circled Seraphina like a devoted satellite. Always there. Always glowing for her.
And when she woke — cheek pressed against her Ina's skin — she whispered, "Even if the whole world falls, I'll still be holding you."