Chapter 5: The Post I Thought No One Saw
I sat with that knowledge for three days after we got home.
Avery went back to her room, back to Sir Bun on her pillow, back to the careful routine of medications and rest and small good moments we tried to build around the hard ones.
She talked about the castle constantly — the staircase, the tiny library, the hot chocolate that was still warm at midnight.
She didn't ask again about who had sent it.
She seemed to have made peace with the mystery in a way I couldn't.
I went back to the parent group.
The post was gone — I had deleted it, I was certain.
But the group had a moderator, a woman named Diane who ran it from somewhere in Ohio and who sent a welcome message to every new member with her email address at the bottom.
I had never used it.
I used it now.
*Hi Diane — I'm not sure if you can help me.
About eight months ago I posted something in the group late at night and deleted it the next morning.
I'm trying to find out if anyone responded to it before I took it down, or if anyone reached out to you about it.
I know this is a strange request.*
She replied within the hour.
*Not strange at all.
I remember your post.
I almost messaged you that night but I didn't want to overstep.
Someone did reach out to me about it — asked if I knew you personally or had contact information.
I told them I couldn't share member details.
They thanked me and that was the end of it.
I don't know how they found you after that.
Is everything okay?*
I wrote back: *More than okay.
I'm just trying to understand something.*
I closed my laptop and sat at the kitchen table.
Whoever this was, Diane hadn't given them my information.
Which meant they had found another way.
They had seen a deleted post in a private group, been turned away by the moderator, and still found us.
Still found the fundraiser page I had taken down.
Still found the hospital.
Still found the castle Avery had pointed to on a screen one evening in our living room.
I didn't know whether to feel grateful or unsettled.
I felt both.
That evening, while Avery was resting, my phone buzzed with an email.
No subject line.
The sender address was a string of letters and numbers that meant nothing to me.
I almost deleted it.
I opened it instead.
*You've been asking questions.
That's okay.
You deserve answers.
But I'd like to ask you something first — is Avery well enough to travel one more time?
There's something we'd like her to see.
No obligation.
No conditions.
Just say the word and we'll arrange everything.*
I read it four times.
Then I typed back: *Who are you?*
The reply came in under two minutes.
*Someone who lost a child.
Someone who couldn't do anything then.
Someone who can do something now.*
I set the phone face-down on the table.
My hands were shaking again — the same way they had shaken in the castle, holding the letter for the first time.
But it was different now.
In the castle I hadn't known what I was holding.
Now I was beginning to understand the shape of it, even if I couldn't yet see the whole thing.
I picked the phone back up.
*Tell me more*, I typed.
*Please.*
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Then: *Can we call?*
I looked down the hall toward Avery's room.
The light under her door was off.
She was asleep, Sir Bun beside her, one good night already behind her.
*Yes*, I wrote back.
May you like
*Call me.*
The phone rang before I had put it down.
