“Are you ready?” That caramel voice melted in gentleness.
She could only nod. After Hugh slipped the portfolio onto her lap, Aleida forced wooden fingers to open it.
There was her boy, smiling up at her—at the image of her. Sitting on her lap, his head tipped back in laughter, his hair catching the sunlight, pointing up at the tree.
A tiny sob hopped in her throat. “Theo...”
With a trembling hand, she reached to touch him. Stopped herself, lest her fingerprints mar the image.
“He really is a beautiful child,” Hugh said.
“He is.” The round cheeks, the perfect mouth, the gleaming eyes. “I—I can hear his voice so clearly. We were playing a game. He was naming colors. Here he’s saying, ‘Green,’ and pointing to the leaves.”
“There are more photographs. About a dozen.”
Holding the edge of the print, she flipped to the next one, to “Blue,” where he’d almost poked her in the eye, to “Red,” where he tugged down her lower lip. Then she kissed his sweet hand.
Each image was blurrier than the one before. “If only they weren’t so blurry.”
Hugh chuckled and handed her a handkerchief.
It blurred before her too. She took it and wiped her eyes, her damp cheeks. Another sob hiccupped out. “I thought I’d never see him again.”
Hugh rocked forward in his seat, his eyes alight. “Now you can. Now you have proof. Your face is clear and recognizable, and so is Theo’s. And the last photograph—the man must be your husband.”
Aleida flipped to it, then slammed her eyes shut against the face she’d wanted never to see again. “That’s him. That’s Sebastiaan.”
“At the edge of the picture, I can see you and Theo. You both look scared.”
“We were terrified.” She turned the photograph of Sebastiaan upside down.
Hugh tapped one finger on the portfolio. “All three of you in one image. That will convince Mr. Randolph, most assuredly.”
Aleida gasped. “Mr. Randolph?”
Hugh’s face went grim. “If it doesn’t, you can take him to court. Tony Da Costa will serve as witness, I’m certain.”
She could get her son back.
Instead of joyful relief, something nasty and gripping dug claws into her heart. Had she acted hastily in surrendering Theo? What if she’d waited only a few more days? She could have waved these photos in Mr. Randolph’s face, proven herself, snatched back her son.
And those nasty, gripping claws shredded her peace.
Because snatching back her son wasn’t best for him.
“No,” Aleida said. “I won’t do that.”
“Won’t do ... what?” He gaped at her.
“You were right. A time came to give him up.”
“No.” His gaze bored deep, a bit wild. “I should never have said that. I had no way of knowing what you were feeling. Then Lennox went missing during an air raid, and—”
“Lennox? Is he all right?”
Hugh’s lips mashed together. “He hasn’t returned. I’ve been rather distraught. And if I felt that way about my cat, what must you feel for your son? Now I’ve seen how you love each other. I’ve seen why you couldn’t—why you must never give up. Please forgive me.”
“Forgive? You did nothing wrong. You only made a suggestion, asked me to consider giving up the search.” Her thumb stroked the smooth edge of the portfolio.
