Lydia’s Chair
Chapter 17 - Lydia’s Chair
Harrison moved Lydia’s rocking chair back into the nursery.
Caroline had ordered it removed months earlier, calling it “unhealthy attachment.” It had been stored in a guest room under a sheet, like grief could be managed by furniture placement.
Sofia helped carry it back.
Not because Harrison asked her to. Because Emma stood beside the empty corner with both hands clasped, waiting.
The chair was pale wood with a faded cushion. Lydia had rocked Emma in it through fevers, thunderstorms, and one famous night when baby Emma refused to sleep unless Harrison sang off-key from the doorway.
When the chair returned to its place, Emma touched the armrest.
“Mommy chair,” she whispered.
Harrison knelt beside her. “Yes.”
“Caroline said it made me babyish.”
Harrison’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice gentle. “Loving your mother does not make you babyish.”
Emma looked at Sofia. “Right?”
Sofia nodded. “Right.”
Emma climbed into the chair, rabbit in her lap, and began rocking slightly.
Harrison watched with tears he did not hide.
Sofia stood near the nursery door.
This time the door was open.
That mattered.
Later, Harrison installed a small doorstop shaped like a brass star. Emma chose it. She said stars helped doors remember not to close unless invited.
Adults might have laughed.
No one in that penthouse did.
The nursery door stayed open through dinner.
May you like
Through bedtime.
Through the first peaceful night Emma had slept in weeks.
