Maisie stared, baffled by his recoil. A question she hadn’t anticipated shadowed his face.
“Faivish—” she reached for him, but he caught her wrist.
His lips brushed her hand as he breathed and pressed her fingers to his cheek, “Say my name again. I’ve lived in silence long enough.”
She did. Soft, pleading. “Faivish.”
It broke something open in him. He pushed himself upright, the lantern light catching on soaked wool clinging to the strength of his chest and arms.
Maisie’s gaze clung to him. She’d waited five years for this moment and dreamed of it. Imagined it.
He kissed her hand again, lingering—like a man drawing the last drop of water before crossing the burning desert.
“I’ve been searching for you for so long,” she whispered. She didn’t even know in what language—Yiddish, German, English—it didn’t matter. It came from her heart.
His eyes closed. “And I for you. Every day. In every face.”
For a breath, the past dissolved. It was just them.
Then—a knock.
The door opened. Rain and light rushed in, and there stood Deena, cloak drawn tight. Her eyes flicked between them, widening with dawning understanding.
She studied him—the student she once knew, transformed into this man. The West-End cut broad across his shoulders. Hair swept back, darker. A shadow of beard. Hands bearing both fine nicks and the steadiness of a surgeon.
“Faivish Blattner,” she said at last, wonder breaking into a smile. “You’ve changed!”
“And you’ve grown,” he answered softly, his eyes catching hers before flicking back to Maisie.
Behind Deena, Maisie saw the open doorway: Rachel, Raphi, Fave, even James the butler—standing in the rain. Watching. Waiting.
“Go with him,” Deena said, her voice low and sure. “I’ll stay here with Rachel. You have much to talk about.”
Maisie glanced past her. Rachel nodded—slow, warm—the kind of gesture that gave all permission.
And just like that, the door closed again.
The hush returned. Then the wheels moved. The carriage rocked gently forward.
They were alone. Wet and wounded. But together. And at last, nothing stood between their words.
*
Everything else fellaway—the rain, the carriage, the years of silence.
Maisie could scarcely breathe. His coat dripped onto the velvet floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. He held her gaze as if she might dissolve if he blinked.
“Faivish,” she whispered, trembling. Saying his name felt like daring herself to exist again. His eyes burned with the same intensity she remembered—but deeper now, layered with hope and pain. “I thought I’d imagined you,” she said in a rush. “I thought I’d gone mad. But you’re here. You’re real.”
“Of course I am.” His voice was raw, scraped across stone. “You vanished. I searched everywhere—Vienna, Graz. And everywhere from there to here. There wasn’t a trace. Not of Maisie Morgenschein. Not of your father. Not even Deena.”
Her mouth trembled. “Because I couldn’t be her anymore. I had to disappear. I became someone else.”
His next question cut her like a blade. “When did you get married?” The word sounded strangled, bitter.
Maisie’s disbelief cracked high, almost childish. “No—never.” Her hands rose to his face, sure and instinctive, her touch the homecoming she’d starved for. “The Marquess gave us false papers. We lived in his late sister’s name to keep John, his heir, safe. It was survival. Only that. Never betrayal.”
“All these years…” His voice broke. “I thought maybe you didn’t want me to find you.”
