Chapter 4 - The Hidden Score
By the end of the second week, the Mercer mansion had undergone a subtle, tectonic shift.
The heavy velvet curtains in the west wing were finally pulled back, letting in the autumn sunlight. The grand piano no longer served as a fortress for a terrified four-year-old; instead, it was covered in sheet music, finger paints, and half-finished jigsaw puzzles.
Daniel had watched from the periphery, observing Mara’s methods with the cold, analytical eye of a CEO evaluating an unfamiliar asset. She didn’t push Lily to talk about the car crash. She didn’t ask her how she felt. Instead, she used rhythm, melody, and sound to help the child externalize the chaos inside her head.
One afternoon, while Mara was out getting acoustic strings from her car, Daniel walked into the music room. Lily was sitting on the piano bench, carefully dragging a blue crayon across a piece of construction paper.
“Lily,” Daniel said softly, stepping cautiously into the room.
Lily stopped coloring, keeping her head down.
“Can I sit down?” he asked.
She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Daniel sat on the edge of the bench, the polished wood feeling cold beneath him. He looked at the sheet music open on the rack—a classical piece Ellie used to play on rainy afternoons.
“Lily... do you remember when Mommy used to play this?” Daniel asked, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.
Lily’s hands froze. She dropped the crayon.
“You’re not allowed to say her name,” Lily whispered fiercely, her lower lip trembling.
“Why not, sweetheart?” Daniel asked, his heart constricting.
“Because when you say it, you sound like you’re reading from a book at church,” Lily cried out, tears instantly welling up in her big blue eyes. “You sound like she’s gone forever! But Mara says music doesn't disappear when the song stops! It stays in the walls!”
Daniel stared at his daughter, completely floored. He had spent four months treating Ellie’s death like a legal transaction to be finalized and filed away, while his daughter was searching for echoes in empty rooms.
Before Daniel could answer, Mara walked back into the room holding a pack of guitar strings. She took one look at Daniel’s strained face and Lily’s trembling shoulders, and she instantly read the room.
“Mr. Mercer,” Mara said smoothly, walking over and setting the strings on the side table. “Session’s running a bit long today. Why don’t you go check your spreadsheets? Lily and I have a rhythm exercise to finish.”
It was a polite, professional dismissal. She was kicking him out of his own house, and for the first time in his life, Daniel didn't get angry. He just nodded slowly, stood up, and walked out without a word.
Once he was out of earshot, Mara sat down beside Lily on the bench.
“Hey,” Mara murmured, wiping a stray tear from the little girl's cheek with her thumb. “Your dad is trying, Lily. He’s just very clumsy at it. Grown-ups are really bad at grief. They think crying is a sign of breaking.”
“Is my dad broken?” Lily asked, sniffling.
“No,” Mara smiled gently. “He’s just got his armor on so tight he forgot how to take it off. But don't worry... music is pretty good at cracking armor.”
That evening, after Lily had gone to sleep, Daniel sat in his study with a glass of bourbon he hadn't touched. His phone buzzed on the mahogany desk. It was an email from his lead corporate counsel, warning him about an upcoming hostile acquisition attempt by Apex Logistics—their biggest rival, run by a ruthless operator named Richard Vance.
Vance knew Daniel was distracted by personal tragedy. He was circling Mercer North like a shark smelling blood in the water.
Daniel deleted the email without opening it. For the first time, the empire didn't feel like the most important thing in the world.
Suddenly, a soft knock sounded at his study door.
“Come in,” Daniel said.
Mrs. Nolan opened the door, holding a thick, leather-bound notebook that looked very old.
“What is that?” Daniel asked.
“I was cleaning out the attic storage boxes, Mr. Mercer,” Mrs. Nolan said, her eyes sympathetic. “It belonged to Mrs. Mercer. Her personal songbook from when she was studying music in college. I thought... well, I thought maybe Miss Mara might want to see it. There are handwritten notes in the margins.”
Daniel took the book from her hands. The leather was soft, worn at the edges. He opened the cover. Inside, Ellie’s neat, flowing handwriting filled the pages, interspersed with musical staves and chord charts.
He flipped to the very last page. There, written in pencil with a small star drawn next to the title, was a lullaby he had never heard her play.
May you like
“The River Home.”
Daniel stared at the notes, a cold shiver running down his spine. This wasn't just a song. It was something deeply personal. And the next morning, he was going to hand it to Mara Bennett.
