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His eyes stayed on me for a few seconds before he shifted closer to Samantha. His shoulder pressed against her arm, and Samantha immediately placed a hand on him.

“It’s okay. Luke, this is Maggie. She’s your mom.”

His brow furrowed. Then he looked up at Samantha.

“But you’re my mom.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Luke couldn’t remember me. He was only three weeks old the last time I held him. Samantha had been there when he learned to walk and talk. She’d tucked him into bed, taken care of him when he was sick, celebrated his birthdays, comforted him when he cried, and probably knew everything about him that I had spent seven years wondering about.

She raised my son.

Samantha gave him a small smile and rubbed his shoulder. “You have two moms.”

No.

She wasn’t his mother.

I was.

I had carried him. I had given birth to him. I still remembered holding him against my chest and staring at his face for hours because I couldn’t believe something so perfect had come from me. For three weeks, he’d been mine. Then I had lost my fucking mind and ruined everything.

Now my son was sitting three feet away from me, hiding behind another woman.

Worse, he was hiding behind the woman I’d tried to kill.

But Samantha wasn’t smug about it. She wasn’t looking at me like she’d won something. There was no anger in her face, even though she had every reason to hate me. That almost made it worse. If she’d hated me, I could’ve hated her back. Instead, she looked at me with quiet sympathy while my son leaned against her.

Luke studied me for a moment before saying, “Hi.”

That was it. No recognition. No sudden connection because I was the woman who gave birth to him. Just a polite hello from a little boy meeting someone he didn’t know.

I forced myself to smile. “Hi.”

I had spent seven years thinking about everything I would say to him if I ever got this chance. Now that he was sitting in front of me, I couldn’t think of anything.

“What’s your favorite color, Luke?”

He glanced at Samantha before answering. “Red.”

“Red,” I repeated, smiling a little wider. “I like red too.”

My eyes went to the door again.

Still no Richard.

“Favorite food?”

“Pizza.”

“What kind?”

“Pepperoni.”

I smiled. “That’s a good one.”

I glanced toward the door again. Maybe Richard really was running late. He knew I was getting visitors today. There was no way Samantha had brought Luke here without telling him. Richard probably had some meeting he couldn’t get out of and sent them ahead without him.