From the bar, a well-dressed woman watched closely. Claire Monroe.
Daniel thanked Emily, shaken. The girls hadn’t spoken in two years. Emily refused payment. “They just needed to feel safe,” she said.
That night, in her rented room in Queens, Emily cried softly. She thought of her younger brother Anthony, who had died of meningitis because they couldn’t afford care in time. She had learned early to notice small signs—fear in children’s eyes, the danger of silence.
Across the city, Daniel lay awake, replaying that one word: teddy. Two years of specialists had failed. A waitress with a forgotten toy had succeeded.
His wife Rachel Monroe had died of pancreatic cancer when the girls were three. She was a music teacher, always singing. When she died, the girls went silent. Doctors called it traumatic mutism. Daniel had tried everything money could buy.
Three days later, Daniel returned to the restaurant and asked for Emily. The girls brought drawings—blue houses, gardens, a woman in red, and a hummingbird. Emily noticed the familiar gesture again: arms crossed over the chest. She mirrored it. Sofia smiled, just slightly.
They ordered hibiscus tea. Lily pointed and said, “Hibiscus.”
From the bar, Claire watched. Mark Reynolds, the manager, warned Emily to be careful. Soon strange things began happening. A tray vanished and reappeared in Emily’s locker. Money went missing. Mark hinted at suspicion.
Then Emily found an envelope in her locker—fake clippings accusing her of manipulating wealthy orphans.
She realized she was being framed.
The girls kept drawing hummingbirds, now with something shiny in their beaks. Daniel remembered a silver bracelet Rachel had worn, with a hummingbird charm. It had gone missing at the hospital.
Emily followed the clue to the clinic. On the wall hung a photo of Rachel wearing the bracelet—and a red ribbon taped to the frame. Behind it, Emily found a broken music box.
When she replaced the batteries, it played You Are My Sunshine.

Back at the restaurant, Emily played the tune and sang softly, clapping a familiar rhythm. The girls clapped back. Then Maya spoke again.
“Mama.”
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