She did not look at me.

She did not glance at the shattered vase and spilled flowers on the floor.

Her eyes moved straight to Luca, and then down to the baby cradled in my arms, and lingered there, appraising, in a way that made my skin crawl and made me hold Fiona tighter.

“So,” she said, her voice smooth, and icy, and entirely unbothered, as though she were commenting on the weather.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for five years, Luca.” I looked at my husband, my mind reeling.