Chapter Twenty
LOGAN
John and Carol had left their home office unlocked for my use. Since I planned to be at the hospital every day, I hadn't intended to need it.
But that night, I took refuge there. And, incredibly, it had nothing to do with work.
I sat at the mahogany desk with my laptop, the folder containing the girls' documents beside me. My focus was on Aurora's medical reports.
As a neurologist, I understood deafness from a clinical perspective, even if it wasn't my specialty. But my knowledge felt utterly insufficient, especially because it was purely medical. I knew nothing of the social or practical realities.
I knew absolutely nothing about sign language, so that was my starting point.
I spent hours reading about the basics, learning that it was a complete language, with American Sign Language (ASL) being the one used here—the one Aurora used to communicate with Anna and Evelyn. The one I needed to learn.
I watched introductory videos, learning a few basic words and phrases. It was a start, but it wasn't enough. I needed to go deeper.
I also needed to research what I, as a doctor, could do for Aurora.
And more importantly, what I should do as her father.
That word no longer felt so foreign.
I glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen and was startled to see it was past three in the morning. I’d lost all track of time.
Deciding to continue the next day, I shut down the computer and left the office. I was halfway down the hall when I heard a sound from the girls' room.
A scream.
Without a second thought, I flung the door open. The loud bang made Anna jolt upright in bed. When I turned on the light, I saw her tear-streaked face; the scream had been hers.
I rushed to her, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The mere thought of her being in pain terrified me on a level I hadn't felt in years.
“Anna… what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Still crying, she shook her head and looked around, disoriented. Her eyes settled on Aurora, who was still fast asleep.
I finally understood. “Did you have a bad dream?” I asked.
“Go away,” she ordered, her voice thick with tears.
“I’m not leaving you alone. Not until you’ve calmed down.”
“I want my mommy…” she whimpered.
The plea shattered something in my chest. I would have given anything to grant it, but it was the one thing completely beyond my power. I had no idea where her mother was, or why she had left.
But I had to do something.
Aurora stirred, covering her face from the light. I couldn't turn it off with Anna so frightened.
“Come with me,” I said to Anna.
“Where?”
“Let’s go somewhere else so we don’t wake your sister. And if you want, you can tell me about the nightmare.”
She lowered her head, trying to stifle her tears and put back on her tough facade. For a moment, I thought she would refuse. I was surprised when she took my hand and pushed the covers back to stand up.
I led her into the living room. We hadn't finished decorating the tree, but the strings of fairy lights were draped over its lower branches. I left Anna facing the tree, walked over to the socket, and plugged it in. The room was instantly bathed in a soft, colorful, twinkling glow.
I came back and sat on the rug facing the pine tree, patting the space beside me. She remained stubbornly standing for a moment, wiping her face with her hands.
“Do you want to tell me about the nightmare?” I asked.
“No. It was just a silly dream.”
“But silly dreams can be scary, too. I had them when I was your age.”
“That was a long time ago.”
I tried not to look offended by the comment that so clearly called me old.
“Yes, a long time ago. But I remember a lot from being a kid. One thing I remember is that around the holidays, I liked to sit by the Christmas tree in the dark and just look at the lights. It always calmed me down. You should try it.”
She was silent, but I could tell she was thinking about my words. Then, hesitantly, she sat down next to me. But as soon as she did, she immediately shuffled a few inches away, making it clear she wanted to keep her distance.
We sat in silence for a while before I spoke. “We’ll finish decorating the tree tomorrow. You can help us.”
“I hate Christmas,” she replied.
I found that curious. A five-year-old shouldn't have such a long history of bad Christmases. “Why do you hate it?”
“The teacher at our preschool told us to write letters to Santa Claus, with a drawing of the gift we wanted.”
“What did you draw?”
“A bike. Rory drew one too, but hers had a ballet outfit on it. Then, when we got home, Grandma said it was stupid. That Santa Claus isn’t real, that we couldn’t afford bikes, and that…” Her voice trailed off, thick with distress.
“And what, Anna? What else did your grandmother say?”
“That Rory will never be able to dance ballet because she’s deaf. Mommy got really angry and argued with Grandma, and then she told us that everything Grandma said was a lie.”
“And your mother was right. It was all a lie.”
“I know Santa Claus isn’t real. And I know we don’t have money for bikes.
But I didn’t care about that. I was sad because Rory cried so much.
She really likes to pretend she’s dancing ballet, even without hearing the music.
And since that day, she hasn’t danced again.
After that, Mom packed our things. She showed us your picture and said you were our daddy and that we would stay with you.
Then Uncle George put us in the car and took us to that place where you were. ”
“To the hotel?”
“Yeah. I thought Mom would come back for us. But she’s taking a long time.”
“I’m sorry, Anna. But I promise you, even if it didn’t start off well, I will take care of you.”
“Until Mom comes back?”
“Even after your mom comes back. I’m your father. I’ll be your father forever.”
“Why were you never our father before?”
“Because I didn’t know I was.”
“Even after you found out, it’s Evy who takes care of us. Not you.”
“I will take care of you now. I promise.”
“You and Evy?”
“Evy will be with us for a while.”
“And then she’ll leave?”
That should have been a simple question to answer. Yes, Evelyn is leaving. Our agreement was only for two months.
But I didn’t want to answer, because I realized in that moment that I didn’t want her to leave.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. It was long enough for Anna to slump against my arm. Startled, she jerked upright, rubbing her eyes.
“I think it’s time for bed,” I said softly.
She shook her head. “No. There aren’t any calming lights in there.”
I smiled and gently pulled her closer. She was so sleepy she didn’t resist as I settled her in my lap. She sat there, her eyelids heavy, fighting to stay awake and watch the twinkling lights. I took the moment to study her face—every detail.
She was really just a baby, still so small and vulnerable, yet she’d already been through so much. She was a little warrior, fiercely protective of her sister.
I held her until her breathing evened out and she finally fell asleep. Carefully, I stood up, carried her back to her room, and tucked her into bed. After settling her, I watched her sleep for a moment before turning to straighten Aurora’s covers and watching her, too.
They were a handful, but they looked like angels when they slept.
I wondered when exactly I’d started to feel such overwhelming love for them.
I tiptoed out, leaving the door half-open so I could hear if Anna had another nightmare. Instead of going to sleep, I returned to the office, opened the girls’ folder, and took out Eleanor’s letter.
I quickly scanned the text again, my focus settling on the final lines.
I love them more than anything, and I know you will love them, too. I know this feels like I’m abandoning them, but someday they’ll understand I did this out of love. I can’t keep them anymore, and I believe you’ll soon understand why.
Inside the suitcase is a folder with all their documents and everything you might need.
Take good care of them. And when they ask about me… just tell them I had to go on a trip, but that I love them more than my own life.
Yours sincerely,
Eleanor “Ellie” Bean
“Why did you do this, Ellie?” I whispered into the quiet of the room. “I have no doubt you loved them. I can hear it in the way Anna talks about you. So why? Why did you abandon them?”
In that moment, more than anything, I needed an answer.