Chapter Twenty-Five #2
The Compass Ornament is in the box labeled number 14.
Inside, you’ll find Mickey’s treasured compass with the face cracked right through the middle.
When you hang it, you’ll note that the little arrow points wherever it wants.
There is no north or south, west or east—and I think there’s a message to be learned there, up for interpretation.
Here’s the story.
Deep down, I knew that Daisy did the right thing by leaving.
And, some part of me was proud of her for choosing Mallory’s well-being over her own desire to cling to her.
Even so, I waited for Daisy to return. Every day brought new hope that this would be the one when she appeared on my doorstep, the prodigal daughter, renewed.
I told myself that she would find herself wherever she was and then she would come home again.
As those days passed, Mallory grew more beautiful, more vibrant. She had Daisy’s eyes and what Mickey liked to call my stubborn chin. Her laughter filled our home in a way it hadn’t in years, chasing away the loneliness that had settled in after Daisy left.
I found myself staying up late, rocking Mallory to sleep and whispering stories of the stage into her tiny ears.
Unlike Daisy, who had grown to resent the theater, Mallory seemed entranced by it.
Her eyes would light up at the sight of the heavy velvet curtains, and she’d clap her chubby hands in delight at the sound of applause.
As her third birthday approached, I realized something had changed in me. I no longer prayed for Daisy’s return. Instead, I found myself hoping, guiltily, selfishly, that my own daughter would stay away. That Mallory would remain with Mickey and me forever.
“We have a second chance,” I confided to Mickey one night after we’d put Mallory to bed. “A chance to do it right this time.”
Mickey seemed to agree with me, although he didn’t say a word. He’d been there through it all—the fights with Daisy, the sleepless nights wondering where she was, the pain of her absence. He must have seen new hope in Mallory too.
Two years later, though, it happened again. Daisy showed up, and I knew, with just one look, she wasn’t in a place to be a mother. Not to Mallory and not to Madison, the second baby she handed off for me and Mickey to take care of.
“I raised you better than this,” I said that time, resentment building, even though I wouldn’t trade my granddaughters for the world.
Yes, maybe it was the wrong reaction, but we all say things we wish we could take back.
Even as we say them, we know we should stop because the regret is inevitable. Inescapable.
“Are you sure about that?” Daisy retorted. She didn’t even stay long enough for dinner. She just placed the second baby in my arms. “Her name is Madison. Maddie. Her birthday is April eighteenth.” Then she turned and left.
Mickey wanted to chase after her, but I grabbed his arm.
“She’s not ready. She can only cause more harm for Mallory.” And truthfully, for me too.
That was the last time for a while that Daisy showed up at my door. Years went by. Christmases passed. By the time Mallory was five, she knew every nook and cranny of our little theater. She’d sit in the wings during rehearsals, her eyes wide with wonder.
Both Mallory and Maddie had been involved in the theater, but Mallory had it in her blood.
She also had Daisy’s beauty but none of her restlessness.
Where Daisy had been like a storm, Mallory was more of a gentle breeze.
She brought joy wherever she went, and the theater became as much her home as it had ever been mine.
Madison, on the other hand, found her passion in the great outdoors.
Sometimes she would wander and I’d have to search for her.
In those moments, I’d wonder if my youngest granddaughter was going to follow in her mom’s footsteps.
She never ran away though. She always came home from her outdoor adventures.
It was on one such Christmas Eve, Mallory’s twelfth, that everything changed again. We’d just settled in for our usual tradition. Mallory, despite being too old for such things, as she’d started claiming, was curled up on the couch, her eyes bright with anticipation as Mickey began to read.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
Maddie’s head lifted, her eyes wide. “Do you think it’s Santa?” she whispered, a hint of her childhood excitement creeping into her voice.
Mickey and I exchanged amused glances. “Why don’t you go see?” I suggested with a chuckle.
Maddie shot up, knocking an ornament from our tree as she bounded to the door. I reached for the ornament, a frown settling on my face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“The compass. It’s broken.”
I remember that he’d placed the compass on the tree a few days earlier. It wasn’t a traditional ornament, and I remember finding it odd that he’d looped an old compass with a piece of ribbon and hung it, as if it was the most natural thing to do. I’d been meaning to ask about his reasoning.
“The face is cracked,” I told him as I handed it to him. “Looks like the arrow doesn’t know which way to go.”
Mickey didn’t seem bothered. “It was already broken when my father gave it to me.”
Before I could reply I heard a squeal from the front of my house that sent me racing in that direction.
There, illuminated by the porch light and dusted with snow, was Daisy.
Time stood still. Daisy was older, of course, but her eyes were clearer than I’d seen them in years. There was a hesitance in her stance, a vulnerability I’d never associated with my headstrong daughter.
“Mom?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Dad? I… I’m h-home.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. I was Daisy’s mother. I was supposed to welcome her with open arms, heart bursting with joy. But I also saw myself as Mallory and Madison’s mother now. And some part of me saw Daisy as the enemy. A person who could possibly steal away these two treasures in my life.
Mickey eventually broke the silence. “Welcome home, sweetheart.” His voice was thick with emotion as he hesitated, looking unsure about whether he should stay put or give his prodigal daughter a hug.
“Mom!” Mallory burst onto the porch, more excitement in her eyes than if it actually had been Santa at the door. “You’re here. You came back for us.”
The hope in my oldest granddaughter’s voice just about broke me.
As I watched Daisy tentatively return Mallory’s embrace, her eyes met mine.
There would be explanations needed, wounds to heal, trust to rebuild.
And I wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
No way. I loved my daughter, I did. And I respected her leaving if that’s what she felt was best for Mallory and Maddie.
I needed to trust that whatever was happening now was still best for them, and I didn’t.
Mickey stepped up beside me, the broken compass in his palm. He slipped it in my hand and whispered in my ear. “Read the inscription.” Then he moved forward to hug Daisy.
Squinting my eyes, I angled the compass trying to let the inscription catch the light.
WHEN YOUR COMPASS IS brOKEN, FOLLOW YOUR HEART.
Looking up at Mickey with Daisy in his arms and our grandchildren gathered around, I couldn’t help but hope that’s what this was.
Daisy’s long-broken compass had led her away, but now, here she was, hopefully home to stay.
I didn’t want to think about what it would do to Mallory and Maddie otherwise.