his empty chair, I continued.
“I wanted Maisie to grow up. I wanted to hear her argue about homework and complain about my cooking.
But I never wished Aurora away.
When she was born, I loved her for who she was. Not because she could replace anyone.”
I pictured Arthur carrying infant Aurora around our home, inventing lullabies because he never remembered the real ones.
“You certainly loved making a fool of yourself for her,” I whispered.
His next words explained the whole manuscript.
“I wrote about Maisie because I
