My hand covered my stomach. “His name is Julian.”
Marianne set her pen down. “Then Julian it is.”
But something inside me had cracked open.
Victor was not just erasing my death. He was rewriting my child before he had even taken his first breath.
On the screen, Victor looked toward my portrait. “I will spend the rest of my life honoring them.”
Serena lowered her head.
Her shoulders shook.
To anyone else, she looked like she was crying.
But I knew her.
I saw the way she peeked upward through the veil. The way her gaze followed Victor. The way her mouth tightened, not with grief, but with impatience.
The service ended with music I had never liked.
People rose, embraced, whispered. Victor stood near the portrait, accepting the sorrow of others like a man collecting coins.
Then something unexpected happened.
An older woman approached him.
She was small, with white hair pinned at the nape of her neck and a cane in one hand. She wore a dark green coat instead of black. Victor’s expression changed when he saw her. Just for a fraction of a second, the mask slipped.
