ㅤ
I had prepared seventeen explanations. One began with a request that Evelyn not call the academy guards. By morning, I'd crossed out all seventeen and written a single instruction at the top of the page: Tell her what happened.
ㅤ
“Daddy?”
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The girl stood beside the table with Sir Flopsy dangling from one hand. She'd tied her blue ribbon herself; one end reached nearly to her shoulder.
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“Are we seeing Mommy today?”
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“Yes. I'll speak to her first, and then Marcus will bring you in.”
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“Will she be mad?”
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“I don't know, sweetheart.”
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“Mommy gets quiet when she's mad.”
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I'd seen Evelyn go quiet over a flawed calculation. I hoped I wouldn't learn how she handled something considerably worse.
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“Did your mother tell you what to do if she didn't believe us?”
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She rubbed Sir Flopsy's repaired ear. “Stay with you.”
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“Then that's what we'll do.” I reached across the table, and she took my hand.
ㅤ
Marcus arrived before my lecture. I showed him the damaged letter, three gold coins bearing future dates, and the drawing of the house with Rosenfeld written above it.
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“Planning to propose?” he asked.
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“Planning to explain why I apparently already did.”
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He picked up neither the letter nor the coins. “What do you need?”
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“Bring her to the consultation room after my session. Wait outside until I ask you in. If Evelyn wants us to leave, we leave.”
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Marcus nodded. The girl came out of the bedroom and laid her hand over ours, evidently unwilling to be excluded from a promise. Neither of us corrected her.
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***
ㅤ
Evelyn was waiting beside the inactive measuring crystal at station four.
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“Did you bring the revised diagram?” she asked.
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“Yes, but there's something I need to tell you.”
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“So do I.” She closed her notebook. “Is the child from yesterday your daughter?”
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My rehearsed opening disappeared. “Why do you ask?”
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“She called you Daddy. Please don't give me an answer neither of us believes.”
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I set down my bag. “Yes. She's my daughter.”
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“How old are you?”
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“Seventeen.”
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“And she's six.”
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“Yes.”
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Evelyn held my gaze. “Explain.”
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I borrowed the adjoining consultation room from Halden. He handed me its key with a warning about the wards registering any spell above permitted output. I had no intention of casting one.
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Once Evelyn and I were inside, I laid out the letter and coins. “She appeared in my dormitory several days ago, inside a red magical circle. She knew me and Marcus. She brought these.”
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Evelyn kept her hands at her sides. “And you're saying she's your daughter. With whom?”
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I looked at her. Recognition crossed her face before I spoke.
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“What? No!”
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“She says you're her mother.”
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Evelyn stepped back from the table. “That's not funny.”
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“I know.”
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“I have never—”
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“I know that too. I'm telling you what she told me.”
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She looked from the coins to the door, as though trying to decide which question mattered first.
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A knock interrupted us. Marcus let the girl in and withdrew to the corridor. She saw Evelyn and brightened.
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“Mommy!” She started forward, then remembered herself and stopped.
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I crouched beside her. “You can talk to her now.”
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Evelyn's eyes stayed on me. “Did you teach her to call me that?”
ㅤ
“No. She's called you Mommy since she arrived.”
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“Then someone could have taught her who I am.”
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“That's possible. I can't prove where she came from.”
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The girl hugged her rabbit. “Daddy isn't lying.”
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“I haven't said he is,” Evelyn replied, though her voice was strained.
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***
ㅤ
I described the circle and what remained of the letter. Evelyn examined a coin, turning it toward the window before returning it to the table.
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“These dates can be counterfeited. The letter could be forged. Someone could have directed a child to your room.”
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“Yes.”
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“Then why show me these as proof?”
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“Because they're all I have. I won't pretend they're conclusive.”
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“You're asking me to believe that time travel is possible, that I performed it, and that I had a child with someone I've known less than a week.”
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Hearing it aloud was worse than any of my seventeen explanations. “I know how it sounds.”
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Evelyn pulled out a chair and addressed the girl. “Who told you I was your mother?”
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“You did. At home.”
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“Tell me about home.”
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The girl described the garden, the herbs, the kitchen window, a wooden bench, and bedroom curtains that moved when the wind came through. Evelyn listened, then said gently, “I don't know that house.”
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“But you will.” Her certainty faltered when Evelyn didn't answer.
ㅤ
“Has anyone asked you to repeat things about me?” Evelyn asked.
ㅤ
“No. Daddy asks if food makes me sick and what I eat for breakfast.”
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“Those are sensible questions,” Evelyn said, glancing at me. Then she turned back. “Tell me something about your mother that Adrian doesn't know.”
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“Mommy counts after lightning.”
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Evelyn's fingers tightened on the chair. “Lots of people do.”
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“You say you aren't scared of thunder, but you count anyway.”
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I hadn't known. It still wasn't impossible for someone else to know.
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The girl touched her blue ribbon. “Grandma taught you to check the clasp so it doesn't pull hair.”
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Evelyn's gaze shifted to the ribbon. She'd told me part of that story at the market; I couldn't use it to convince her.
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“You kept the last blue ribbon Grandma gave you,” she continued. “In your brown writing case. The bottom lifts at the corner.”
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Evelyn sat straighter. “What does it look like?”
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“The blue is faded. It's wrapped in paper. There's a white star inside, but one side is too long. Grandma said stars don't have to be perfect to be yours.”
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Evelyn stood so suddenly her chair scraped the floor. The girl flinched and edged toward me. Evelyn noticed, stopped, and gripped the chair back instead.
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“Who told you that?”
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“You did, Mommy.”
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“Have you been in my room? Either of you?”
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“No,” I said. She shook her head.
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Evelyn sat again, more slowly. “There's a concealed compartment in my writing case. I haven't opened it since I came to the academy. I haven't told Adrian about it.”
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“I believe you.”
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“That doesn't prove time travel.”
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“I know.”
ㅤ
“But I need to understand how she knows.”
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The girl looked between us. “Did I do it wrong? I thought the ribbon would help.”
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Evelyn's expression changed. “You haven't done anything wrong.”
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“Then why don't you know me?”
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Evelyn looked down at her hands. I had no answer that wouldn't ask her to be patient again.
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***
ㅤ
“Adrian. A word,” Evelyn said.
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The girl caught my sleeve. I pointed to the glass panel beside the door. “I'll be right there. You can see me.”
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Marcus came in to sit with her. Evelyn waited until we were in the corridor before speaking.
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“How long have you been caring for her?”
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“Several days. Marcus helps, and Mrs. Fenwick watches her during classes.”
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“Does Halden know what she's claiming?”
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“No. Only Marcus.”
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Evelyn looked through the glass. The girl was showing Marcus the rabbit's blue cloak, glancing up every few moments to check that I was still there.
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“You understand that a private detail doesn't establish parentage,” Evelyn said. “Memories can be planted. Magic can compel someone. Someone might be using her to reach me.”
ㅤ
“I've considered those possibilities.”
ㅤ
“And you brought her here?”
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“She saw you yesterday. I stopped her from running over, and she cried after you left. I couldn't keep asking her to pretend she didn't know you.”
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Evelyn watched her wave at us. I waved back.
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“Why would I send her into the past?” Evelyn asked.
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“I don't know.”
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“What happened to her family?”
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I swallowed. “She told me I died.”
ㅤ
Evelyn turned toward me. “How?”
ㅤ
“She doesn't know. She says you told her.”
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For a while, Evelyn said nothing. I didn't mistake her silence for belief.
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“I want to examine the letter and coins privately,” she said at last. “And verify the ribbon. No academy report until we understand more.”
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“Agreed.”
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“But I won't question her again today.”
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***
ㅤ
When we returned, the girl slipped off her chair. “Mommy?”
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Evelyn crouched to meet her eyes. “I still have questions. But you know things about me that you shouldn't be able to know.”
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“Because you're my mommy.”
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“I haven't worked that part out yet.” Evelyn saw her face fall and continued before I could intervene. “That doesn't mean I want you to be afraid of me.”
ㅤ
The girl offered Sir Flopsy. “Want to see his ear?”
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Evelyn examined the uneven seam. “Who repaired it?”
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“You did. You said he was brave because he got hurt and stayed with me anyway.”
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Evelyn traced the stitching once. “That was a kind thing to say.”
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“You said it when I was sad.”
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She returned the rabbit with both hands. The girl hesitated, then asked, “Can I hug you?”
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Evelyn glanced at me. I kept quiet; the answer had to be hers.
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“Yes.”
ㅤ
The girl wrapped her arms around Evelyn's neck. Evelyn's hands hovered before settling carefully against her back. I looked toward the window, blinking until I could trust my expression. When she finally let go, she asked if Evelyn would come home with us.
ㅤ
“Lady Rosenfeld has her own room,” I reminded her.
ㅤ
“But she can visit.”
ㅤ
“I could,” Evelyn said. “Not today. I need to check something first.”
ㅤ
“The ribbon?”
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“Yes.”
ㅤ
“It's in the brown case.”
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“I remember.”
ㅤ
Marcus took the girl into the corridor while Evelyn copied the dates from the coins. She left the originals and the damaged letter with me.
ㅤ
“Tomorrow, after your lecture,” she said. “I'd like to speak with you first. Then bring her.”
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“I will.”
ㅤ
“If the ribbon is exactly where she says, I still won't know how any of this happened.”
ㅤ
“Neither will I.”
ㅤ
Evelyn looked toward the girl, who was laughing at something Marcus had said. “But I won't pretend I can dismiss it.”
ㅤ
After she left, I gathered the evidence carefully. Evelyn hadn't accepted that she had a daughter. She had agreed to keep asking questions—and, for today, she'd let my daughter hold her.