Chapter 2 - The Name in the Archive Dust
The name hung in the damp air of the archive room like a physical blow. Evelyn. It was a name Helena hadn’t heard spoken aloud by a stranger in nearly two decades, a name locked away in the cemetery of her family’s history.
"What did you say?" Helena whispered, her voice cracking as she knelt down to eye level with the child, her hands hovering inches from the girl’s shoulders. "What is your mother's name, sweetheart?"
Before the child could answer, a soft, hurried footstep echoed against the linoleum floor.
"Lily! Oh, thank goodness, I turned around for two seconds and you vanished," a breathless voice scolded gently, a woman stepping out from between the towering rows of historical shelving.
Helena looked up.
The woman standing before her was perhaps in her late thirties, wearing a faded denim jacket, her dark hair pulled back into a practical clip. She had the same fine bone structure, the same distinctive arch of the eyebrows that Helena stared at every morning in her own mirror. But it wasn't Evelyn. It couldn't be. Evelyn would have been older, and her face—though similar—belonged to someone else.
The woman froze, her eyes dropping from Helena’s face down to the silver brooch pinned to her lapel.
The color vanished from the newcomer’s cheeks instantly. She reached out, grabbing the little girl’s hand with a protective, trembling grip, pulling her half behind her skirts.
"You're... you're a Crawford," the woman breathed, her voice a fragile, disbelieving whisper.
May you like
"I am," Helena managed to say, rising slowly to her feet, her legs feeling like they were made of water. "And you... who are you?"
"My name is Clara," the woman replied, her eyes swimming with sudden, hot tears. "And I think... I think your sister Evelyn was my mother."
