She had his eyes. And the shade of her hair — that rich dark brown that caught golden tones under sunlight — mirrored his so precisely that sometimes, when she ran toward me unexpectedly, my breath caught for reasons I could never explain aloud.
She shifted slightly so she could study my expression, her gaze perceptive beyond her four years.
“Mommy?” she asked again.
I forced my features into softness, brushing my thumb gently along her cheekbone.
“I’m here,” I said.
She watched me for a moment longer, as though measuring something in my silence, and then her expression changed.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly, almost protective now. “I have you. And Grandpa. And Aunt Giselle. And Aunt Gwen. And Aunt Aster. And Uncle Daniel.” She paused, her expression turning serious. “And Grandpa is strong too. He fixed the sink all by himself.”
A small laugh escaped me despite the heaviness pressing beneath my ribs.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Grandpa fixes everything.”
“And Aunt Giselle says I’m brave,” Helena continued with renewed confidence. “So I don’t really need a superhero daddy.”
The way she said it made it sound like she was convincing herself as much as me. I pulled her closer, pressing my lips against the top of her head, inhaling the warmth of her existence.
“You are more than brave,” I whispered.
She settled against me, her breathing evening out as the topic faded the way it did for children, their thoughts moving on before the weight of it could linger. But I did not move on so easily.
Because as I held her there, I could not ignore the undeniable truth resting against my chest — the shape of her lashes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the depth in her gaze that did not belong entirely to me. If he ever stood close, if those same onyx eyes met his in recognition, I did not know how long silence would survive.
For now, she believed her father was far away because he had to work, and maybe that was kinder than the truth. In her mind, he was absent for a reason she could understand, distant in a way that did not wound her yet. I let her keep that version because it gave her peace, and because some days I needed it too.
But he was here.
In this city. Nearer than I had ever meant for him to be. And the resemblance between them was plain, making prolonged proximity dangerous.
I tightened my arms around her instinctively.
Some secrets are chosen. Others are inherited. And this one hadhiseyes.
Chapter Three
Edwina
WhenIsawhimtoday, the first instinct that rose inside me was not anger. For one dangerous second everything inside me moved toward him before my mind could intervene. I wanted to close the distance between us, to run the way my body remembered how, to reach for him without hesitation the way I once had. I wanted to bury my face against his chest, to feel his arms around me again, to confirm that the years between us had not been real after all.
The impulse was so strong it frightened me. Because it reminded me how easily I had once belonged to him. I did none of those thingsI stood still, kept my voice calm, and walked away. But the truth remained lodged beneath my composure, undeniable and humiliating in equal measure. Part of me had wanted to kiss him too.
Helena shifted slightly in her sleep and I forced the memory away, smoothing the blanket over her small shoulder before standing carefully. She did not stir. Children carry none of the complicated history adults drag through their lives. They sleep peacefully without unfinished conversations echoing in their minds, without memories returning uninvited at the worst possible moments.
When I finally stepped out of her room and pulled the door halfway closed so the nightlight could cast its soft glow into the hallway, the apartment felt too quiet. Too still. Silence always invites memory. And memory, tonight, belonged entirely to him.
My friends had known nothing about us when it happened. Back then I carried the relationship like a secret I protected fiercely, convinced that if the world touched it too closely it might break. Aster and Gwen saw the changes in me, of course. They noticed the late nights, the way my mood shifted without explanation, the happiness I tried unsuccessfully to hide.
But I never told them the truth. After I settled in London, once the first shock had passed and I could speak without falling apart, I called Aster and Gwen and told them everything. The conversation lasted nearly the entire night. I told them about Hayden, the secrecy, the love I had hidden even from myself, and the engagement I discovered so ordinarily that it felt cruel. The silence on the line after I finished speaking felt endless. Aster was the first to break it.
“That son of a bitch,” Aster muttered.
Gwen was more restrained, which only made her words hurt worse.
“You deserved honesty,” she said. “The truth, Edwina. Never the lie.”
