The keepsake
A voice that stays
Some of the recordings in Voicebooks are of people who are no longer here. This page is about them, and about the promise we make to the families who keep listening.
We didn't design this for grief. Families did.
The promise
What we owe a recording like that
It never expires
A lapsed plan, a cancelled card, a family that hasn't opened the app in three years. It keeps playing. It is in the terms.
Learn moreIt belongs to the family
When a grown-up's account is deleted, their recordings are the family's question to answer, never ours. The family's admins decide what stays.
It can be taken out
Family Plus includes keepsake exports — the family's whole voice archive as ordinary audio files, to keep anywhere.
It is private
Nobody outside the family hears a recording unless the family chooses to share it. No ads, no third parties, no training anything on it.
It stays personal
A recording made for one child stays that child's. Their name, their aside, their goodnight.
Written down
Read the Plans, payment and cancellation section of the terms. We wanted it where a lawyer could find it, not only where a marketer could.
Learn moreIf you're reading this in time
Record more than you think you need
The families who wrote to us all said the same thing. Whoever it is — a grandparent, a parent facing something, an old friend with the voice — get them recording now, and get them to record for each child by name. A book for everyone is a library book. A book for Maya, with Maya's name in it, is a letter.
It takes a link. They don't need a plan or an app. A page a night is plenty.
- Invite them from the Family tab — free, always
- Ask for one recording per child, not one for the house
- Let them talk between the pages. The asides are the keepsake.

If it's already happened
What to do with the recordings now
Nothing, if you don't want to. They'll be there. When you do: a child can hear them from their own shelf, at bedtime, with the lights off, the way they always did. A playlist of one person's books keeps their voice going through a whole evening. And if the account that made them is one you need to close, write to us first — we'll make sure the recordings stay with the family before anything is deleted.

My dad recorded The Snowman for my son in October. He died in January. My son is three and thinks Grandad lives in the phone. I'm not going to correct him yet.
Record something today
For someone who isn't here yet, or for someone who won't always be. Free, and kept.