Chapter 1 - THE WOODEN HORSE
“Put that filthy thing down.”
Vanessa Bellini stood at the head of the dining table in a fitted red silk gown, pointing at the little wooden horse in my son's hands.
My four-year-old, Noah, pressed himself against my leg.
“It's mine,” he whispered.
“Not for much longer,” Vanessa said. “Neither of you belongs here.”
Twenty guests sat beneath the crystal chandeliers, pretending not to watch.
I was twenty-six years old, a housemaid in a Chicago mansion where the silverware cost more than my monthly rent.
I'd worked there for eleven months.
And until that evening, I'd managed to keep Noah out of everyone's way.
His babysitter had canceled. The household manager had allowed him to sit quietly near the servants' entrance until my shift ended.
But Noah had wandered into the dining room looking for me.
He wasn't trying to steal anything.
He only wanted his mother.
“I'm sorry, Miss Bellini,” I said. “I'll take him downstairs.”
Vanessa stepped between us and the doorway.
“No. You're both leaving. Tonight.”
My stomach tightened.
“Please. I need this job.”
She smiled.
“Then you should have thought about that before bringing your little mistake into my fiancé's home.”
Noah looked up at me.
“Mommy, am I a mistake?”
Something inside me broke.
I knelt and cupped his little face.
“No, sweetheart. You're the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“Oh, spare us.”
She reached down and snatched the wooden horse from Noah's hands.
One of its ears was shorter than the other. Its left front leg had been repaired with a tiny brass pin.
Noah had slept with that horse since he was a baby.
“Give it back,” I said.
Vanessa dropped it onto the dining table.
“Take your junk and leave.”
I reached for the toy.
Then a man's voice came from behind us.
“Who told you to fire her?”
Every conversation stopped.
Dominic Moretti stood in the dining-room doorway.
Thirty-four years old. Black tailored suit. Dark hair swept back. A tattoo visible beneath his open collar.
Chicago knew him as a man whose decisions were rarely questioned.
Vanessa's expression changed instantly.
“Dominic, darling. I was just handling a staff problem.”
He didn't answer.
His eyes were fixed on the little wooden horse.
I watched him approach the table.
Slowly.
Almost carefully.
He picked it up and turned it over.
His thumb stopped against the brass pin.
“Where did this come from?”
Vanessa laughed nervously.
“Some cheap toy her child dragged into the house.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Claire.”
Hearing him say my name that way brought back five years I had spent trying to forget.
“Where did your son get this horse?”
I could barely speak.
“It was a gift.”
“From whom?”
I looked down.
Noah had wrapped both arms around my waist.
“Mommy says somebody made it for me before I was born,” he whispered.
Dominic's fingers tightened around the toy.
“I carved this.”
The room fell silent.
He looked at the short wooden ear.
“I broke the carving knife while finishing this ear. And I put that brass pin in the leg myself.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“Dominic, what are you talking about?”
He wasn't listening.
He was looking at Noah.
The same dark eyes.
The same dimple in his left cheek.
The same small crease between his eyebrows when he was frightened.
Five years earlier, Dominic and I had loved each other before his family decided I wasn't good enough.
His father had sent me away.
And Dominic had been told I lost our baby.
At least, that was what I believed.
Until now.
Dominic slowly knelt in front of Noah.
“What's your name, buddy?”
“Noah.”
“How old are you?”
“Four.”
Dominic closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he looked up at me.
“Claire. Tell me he's mine.”
I couldn't answer.
Vanessa grabbed his arm.
“You cannot seriously believe this maid!”
Dominic stood.
“Take your hand off me.”
His voice was quiet.
Vanessa obeyed.
He turned back toward me.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Tears blurred my vision.
“Because five years ago, someone came to the hospital and told me you never wanted to see either of us.”
Dominic went completely still.
“Who?”
I looked across the table.
At the woman in the red dress.
Vanessa's champagne glass slipped from her fingers.
And that was when I realized something I'd never understood before.
Dominic's fiancée wasn't shocked that Noah might be his son.
She was terrified that I had finally recognized her.
Dominic stepped between us.
“Claire,” he said carefully, “what did Vanessa do to you five years ago?”
I held Noah closer.
May you like
Because the woman who had just tried to throw my child out of his father's house had been the last person I saw before my son was born.
And she hadn't come to the hospital alone.
