arrived.

Sarah came by early to help, carrying garment bags, safety pins, and enough moral support to hold up a collapsing building.

Before they left, Sarah squeezed Elodie’s hand and asked if she was sure.

Elodie looked at her sons in the back seat, their little jackets making them seem suddenly older, and answered with complete honesty.

She was not sure of anything except that she was done being erased.

The ceremony was held at a stone chapel on the grounds of a country estate thirty miles outside the city, the kind of place built to suggest old money even when the old money behind it was embarrassingly new.

Flower arrangements spilled over every surface.

Luxury cars lined the gravel drive.

Guests moved toward the chapel under a pale sky, all polished shoes and practiced smiles.

Victoria Kensington stood at the entrance in a silver suit, greeting people as though she herself had authored love.

She did not see Elodie until she was almost close enough to touch.

Then her smile froze.

Her eyes dropped first to Elodie’s face, then to the two small boys standing one on each side of her, and for one astonishing second Victoria lost all control over her expression.

Color drained from her cheeks.

Her lips parted.

Her gaze snapped to the twins’ eyes and stayed there too long.

She recovered quickly, but not cleanly.

She stepped forward and lowered her voice to a hiss sharp enough to cut.

She asked what this was.

Elodie answered just as softly that she was attending exactly as invited.

Victoria said children had not been included.

Elodie replied that family events seemed the appropriate place for family.

Sarah, standing slightly behind them, almost smiled.

Around them, a few nearby guests slowed with the subtle greed of people who sense scandal but are too well-bred to admit it.

Victoria glanced toward the chapel doors, then back at the boys.

She could not make a public scene without drawing attention to the very thing she wanted hidden.

So she leaned close and said Elodie had better remember where her seat was.

Elodie looked at the twins, smoothed Leo’s collar, and said she would stand if necessary.

Inside, the chapel glowed with soft afternoon light and carefully arranged beauty.

White flowers climbed the altar rail.

A quartet played something slow and expensive.

Elodie and the boys took seats near the back, though every eye nearby drifted toward them sooner or later.

It was impossible not to notice the twins once the first shock passed.

They were beautifully behaved in the solemn way children become when they sense they have entered a room of rules.

They sat straight.

They whispered.

They watched everything.

And when Lucas turned at the altar during the first swell of music, his entire body went still.

Even from the back, Elodie saw recognition strike him before understanding did.

His face changed in stages.

First confusion.

Then attention.

Then something like disbelief.

Beside him, Sophia followed his gaze and frowned.

The bridal procession had already begun, but Lucas was no longer looking toward the aisle.

He was staring at the boys.

Elodie had imagined this moment in a dozen possible ways and had never once pictured how raw his face would be.

Leo shifted in his seat and