Chapter 20 - The Sovereign Heart
On the evening of Noah’s fourth birthday, I walked down to the edge of the bluff alone.
The sun was sinking below the western rim of the sea, painting the sky in breathtaking strokes of violet, amber, and molten gold. The tide was rushing in, white water churning against the ancient black rocks below, steady and invincible.
In my right hand, I held an old, yellowed piece of paper.
It was the electric bill envelope I had taken from the junk drawer on Fourth Street four years ago. The one where I had written eleven words in black Sharpie before walking out the front door into the freezing morning mist:
I refuse to let my son watch his mother beg to be loved.
I had kept it tucked inside my jewelry box for four years—not out of sentimentality, and not out of pain.
I had kept it as a compass. A reminder of the exact moment a broken woman had chosen to die so that a sovereign mother could be born.
I looked at the handwriting. The ink was slightly faded, but the letters were jagged, sharp, and fierce.
I didn't need the compass anymore.
I knew who I was. I knew where I stood. I had built a fortress of love, security, and peace with my own two hands, stone by stone, boundary by boundary.
I pulled a wooden match from the pocket of my cardigan, struck it against the rough strip on the box, and touched the yellow flame to the corner of the paper.
The dry cardboard caught instantly.
The flame flared bright, curling the edges, consuming the ink, turning the words into glowing amber embers that drifted away into the evening air.
I dropped the blackened ash onto the wet sand, watching the incoming foam wash over it, dissolving it into the deep, endless ocean until nothing remained.
"Mommy!"
A small, warm hand slipped into mine.
I looked down. Noah was standing beside me in his blue fleece sweater, his hazel eyes wide and bright, looking out at the sunset.
"Is the sun going to sleep?" he asked, pointing his tiny finger toward the horizon.
"Yes, baby," I smiled, kneeling down in the soft beach grass beside him, wrapping my arm securely around his sturdy little shoulders. "The sun is going to sleep. But it's coming right back tomorrow morning."
"Are we coming back tomorrow morning too?" he asked, leaning his head against my shoulder, smelling of clean soap, warm wool, and sweet innocence.
May you like
I kissed the top of his head, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong against my side.
"Every single day, Noah," I whispered into the salt wind, watching the first evening star pierce through the violet sky. "Every single day for the rest of our lives."
