it say?”

Celia’s mouth twisted as if the words still tasted poisonous.

“That I had humiliated the family.

That if I kept the baby, I would receive nothing.

That Victor would make sure the court knew I was unstable.”

Theo lowered his straw.

Nora’s eyes filled, but she held herself still.

This was not the moment to collapse.

Her daughter had spent a decade surviving what Nora had not seen.

Tears would not fix it.

“I did not write that letter.”

Celia studied her face for a long time.

Then she reached into Theo’s backpack and pulled out a folded napkin.

A tiny crescent moon had been drawn beside his name in blue ink.

“Mommy draws that on everything,” Theo said quietly.

Nora smiled at him through the ache in her chest.

“I used to draw it on Celia’s lunch bags.”

Celia looked at her.

“You called me Moonbug,” she said.

Nora closed her eyes.

“No one else knew that.”

Celia’s defenses wavered.

She pressed her knuckles to her lips and turned toward the rain-streaked glass.

Outside, a black town car glided to the curb.

The rear window lowered.

Celia saw it first.

Her body went rigid.

Nora followed her gaze.

The man in the back seat was older now, his hair fully white, his face thinner, but Nora knew him instantly.

Elias Harlan.

Victor’s attorney.

The man who had managed Celia’s estate after her supposed death.

The man who had placed the sealed box of “recovered belongings” into Nora’s hands.

The man who had stood at the funeral and told her Victor had handled everything with dignity.

Celia pushed back from the table.

“We have to leave.”

Nora turned back.

“Why is he here?”

“He found me once before,” Celia said.

“When Theo was two.

He told me Victor was still alive and that if I tried to contact you, Theo would be taken from me.”

“Victor was alive then,” Nora said.

“But he isn’t now.”

Celia froze.

“He died eighteen months ago.”

The words seemed to loosen something terrible in Celia’s face.

Relief, grief, and disbelief tangled together.

The café door opened.

Harlan entered with a black umbrella folded in one hand.

He did not look surprised to see them.

That was the worst part.

“Mrs.

Vale,” he said smoothly.

“This is an unfortunate place for a reunion.”

Nora stood.

Celia pulled Theo against her side.

Harlan’s eyes moved over the table: the photograph, the necklace, the napkin.

His mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.

Nora had spent half her life in rooms where men like Harlan mistook politeness for weakness.

She picked up the necklace sleeve and put it back into her bag.

“What did you do?” she asked.

He sighed.

“Whatever you think you have discovered, you should consider the child.”

Celia’s voice came low.

“Don’t talk about my son.”

“I am talking about him.

Children need stability.

Public scandal does not provide it.”

Nora stepped between him and the table.

“You told me my daughter was dead.”

“I repeated what your husband authorized me to repeat.”

“Authorized,” Nora said.

“That’s a careful word.”

“It is an accurate one.”

Celia laughed bitterly.

“You always had clean hands.”

Harlan looked at her with the mild disappointment of a teacher addressing a difficult pupil.

“You were young, frightened, and determined