She hadn’t expected to see him again, not here, not like this. The supermarket was nearly empty, the soft hum of the fridge aisles the only sound as she reached for a carton of milk—only to freeze at the tiny voice behind her.

“Mama?”

Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned, heart hammering, only to find a little girl staring up at her, wide-eyed and hopeful. She had Jonathan’s sharp features but Aurora’s soft curls. Emily. His daughter.

“No, sweetheart,” she said gently, forcing a smile. “I’m not your mama.”

Emily’s brows furrowed in confusion, her little hand gripping the sleeve of her coat. “But you look just like her…”

A scoff cut through the moment. A deep, familiar scoff.

“That’s because they’re sisters.”

Her body went rigid at the voice, the one that used to own her, break her, ruin her. She turned to see Jonathan standing at the end of the aisle, a hand in his pocket, his other gripping the handle of the shopping cart. He looked the same—imposing, unreadable, the kind of man who could freeze the world with a single glance.

Except now, there was something else in his gaze.

Something haunted.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the years, the betrayal, the silence—it all lingered between them. Then his eyes flicked down, past her, to the small hand clinging to the edge of her coat.

And suddenly, she saw it. The realization. The flicker of something breaking in his cold, detached expression.

Because Emily was five.

And Aiden, the son he never knew about, was eight.