Skye and Zora are chatting by the window while Zora adjusts a camera setting.Skye’s hand rests on her belly, protective even while she grins.
“You’re lucky Ivy sleeps through the night,” Skye says, voice light but still carrying through the space.“I’m already bracing myself for no sleep once this little one’s here.”
My stomach drops.
Zora freezes.“Skye...”Her voice is sharp, a warning.
But Skye is oblivious, still fussing with the light.“What?It’s true.Six-year-olds are angels compared to newborns.”
The name echoes in my skull, louder than the buzz of the machines, louder than anything else in the room.
Ivy.
My world tilted sideways.I grip the edge of my tattoo chair so hard my knuckles go white.Zora hisses something at Skye, dragging her a few steps away, but it’s too late.The name is already tattooed into my soul.
Ivy.
Luke’s laughter rings out.“Ohhh, Zora, keeping secrets?That explains the mystery mom vibe you’ve got going on.”
Zora shoots him a glare that could cut glass, but it barely registers.Because I can’t breathe.Can’t think.My pulse thunders in my ears, blood roaring in my veins.The pieces slam together in my head—the car seat, her guarded expression, Skye’s slip.
The kid.Her kid.Ivy.My mother’s name.
The shop blurs around me.Voices dull and all I can see is Zora, her camera clutched like a shield, eyes darting toward me for just a second before skittering away.
She knows.She knows I’d heard.And I can’t stop the thought that tears through me like lightning.Is she mine?Or is it just wishful thinking?
I shove away from my booth, my breath ragged as I pace toward the back because I need space or I’d break something.Luke calls after me, some joke I don’t catch, but I don’t stop.I can’t.
In the bathroom, I grip the sink harshly, staring at myself in the cracked mirror.My reflection stares back, pale and wild-eyed, every tattoo etched into my skin like a history I can’t run from even though I give it a hell of a try.
“Ivy,” I mutter, the word foreign on my tongue.Saying it out loud makes it more real.
If she is mine, if Zora has kept her from me for six years ...the thought hollows me out, rage and grief tangling until I can’t tell them apart.I slam my hand against the wall, the sound echoing off the tiles.
For the first time since I walked into House of Ink, I’m not sure I can hold myself together.
