Celeste looked at me differently now. “You weren’t the maid,” she whispered. “You were the mother.”
“I was a woman who was lied to,” I said.
“Let me fix this,” Julian begged. “Lawyers, doctors—”
“He’s not a negotiation,” I cut in.
The nanny wiped her eyes. “He asks about you. About the moon song.”
I looked at my son asleep against Julian’s shoulder, still holding my finger.
The story doesn’t end with answers—only with truth, looming battles, and a child suspended between immense wealth and the woman who never stopped missing him.
