"MOMMY!"
Zoe launched herself off the couch and into my arms. I caught her, held her tight, breathed in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. My anchor. My reason for everything.
"Hi, baby." I kissed the top of her head. "Did you have fun?"
"So much fun! We did face masks and watched movies and Evie taught me how to braid and we had breakfast in bed and—" She pulled back, looking around. "Where's Xavier? I want to show him my braids!"
The crack in my chest widened.
"Xavier had to go do some work stuff, sweetheart. Grown-up things."
Zoe's face fell. "But he didn't even say hi to me."
"I know, baby. He's just... busy right now."
"Is he mad at me?"
"No." I cupped her face, making her look at me. "No, sweetheart. He's not mad at you. He just has some important things to take care of. Okay?"
Zoe nodded, but her lower lip trembled. I pulled her close again, shooting a look at Isabelle over her head.
I glanced toward the hallway where Xavier had disappeared. Part of me wanted to go after him, to demand answers, to forcehim to tell me what was wrong. But another part—the part that had been trained by years of abandonment—knew better than to chase someone who was running away.
"I should get Zoe home," I said.
Isabelle nodded. "I'll have the car brought around."
Evie appeared at her side, looking uncertain. "Zoe," she said quietly, "I really had fun hanging out with you."
Zoe brightened slightly. "Me too! Can we do it again?"
"Yeah." A small smile crossed Evie's face. "I'd like that."
I thanked Isabelle and Helena, gathered Zoe's things, and let the driver load us into the car. As we pulled away from the estate, I looked back at the imposing facade, at the windows of the study where Xavier was dealing with whatever crisis had shattered our perfect bubble.
He didn't appear.
I faced forward, held my daughter's hand, and told myself this was fine. I'd been alone before. I'd survived before. I didn't need Xavier Dubois. I didn't need anyone.
The lies tasted bitter in my mouth.
My building looked the same as always—slightly run-down, the lobby light flickering, the mailboxes dented from years of use. But as the elevator opened onto my floor, I stopped short.
The hallway outside my apartment was covered in gifts.
Bouquets of flowers in crystal vases. Wrapped boxes in every size. Shopping bags from expensive stores. And toys—dolls, stuffed animals, a pink bicycle with ribbons on the handlebars. It looked like a department store had exploded against my door.
"Mommy, look!" Zoe gasped. "Are those for us?"
"I don't..." My voice trailed off as cold dread pooled in my stomach.
"You're home."
I spun around.
Cole stepped out of the shadows near the stairwell, his hands in his pockets, a tentative smile on his face.
"I've been waiting forever," he said. "I wasn't sure when you'd be back from Hawaii."