The gallery lights are too bright, the champagne too sweet. I shouldn’t be here. But I am.

Six years gone. Six years building a life in silence, raising my son in cities where no one knew my name. Now, I stand ten feet from Alex, frozen mid-conversation, his glass slipping from his fingers. His eyes—still that stormy gray I remember—lock onto mine, then drop to the small hand clutching my dress. My son stares up at him, curious, unaware.

I see the exact moment recognition hits. His breath catches. His face pales.

Brenda steps forward, smiling like a viper, placing a possessive hand on his arm. 'Katie? What a surprise. Back from whatever hole you crawled into?'

My pulse roars. I came for the art exhibit. For closure. But now, seeing them together, feeling my son squeeze my hand… I realize I didn’t come to say goodbye.

I came to take back what was stolen.

And Alex—he needs to know the truth. Now. Or never.