Chapter 2 - You’re Coming With Us
I knelt carefully, trying to release June’s fingers without frightening her.
She only held tighter.
“It’s okay,” I said, though nothing was okay. “Sweetheart, you’re confused.”
June shook her head violently.
Her arms lifted toward me.
The crying began without noise at first—tears spilling down her face, breath coming in short, panicked pulls.
Then she made a sound.
A thin, desperate cry.
The entire dining room remained frozen.
Anthony stepped closer.
His control had returned, but not completely.
I could see uncertainty beneath it.
He studied my face, my hair, the shape of my eyes.
Then his gaze dropped toward June.
“Let her go,” he told his daughter gently.
June buried her face against my chest.
“No.”
Her second word.
Anthony’s jaw tightened.
One of the men behind him shifted forward.
Anthony stopped him with a small movement of his hand.
He was dangerous.
That much was obvious.
But the fear in his eyes was not directed at me.
It was directed at the possibility that June knew something he did not.
I forced myself to stand.
June rose with me, still clinging.
“I’m working,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know your daughter.”
Anthony’s eyes did not leave mine.
“What is your name?”
“Rachel.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“Rachel what?”
“Myers.”
The color left his face.
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know that name?”
He did not answer.
Instead, he turned toward one of his men.
“Clear the room.”
The manager hurried forward.
“Mr. Vale, perhaps we could move to the private—”
“Now.”
Guests began murmuring as staff guided them toward other sections. Phones remained raised despite the manager’s protests.
I backed away.
June screamed and reached for me.
The sound stopped everyone again.
I had never heard such terror from a child.
Not sadness.
Recognition followed by separation.
I lifted her without thinking.
The moment her body settled against mine, she became quiet.
Completely quiet.
Her cheek rested against my collarbone. One small fist closed around the fabric of my uniform.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I held her with one arm beneath her legs and the other supporting her back.
A practiced movement.
A movement I had never been allowed to use with my own baby.
Anthony stared at us.
His eyes moved toward the side of June’s neck, where her cardigan had shifted.
Then toward the same place on mine.
I knew what he saw.
A small crescent-shaped birthmark below my left ear.
My mother had one.
So did I.
And beneath June’s pale hair was an identical mark.
Anthony reached inside his coat.
I stepped backward.
His hand emerged holding an old envelope.
From it, he removed a small blurred photograph.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
Then back at June.
“What is that?” I asked.
His voice became dangerously quiet.
“A picture of June’s mother.”
My throat closed.
“Who is she?”
Anthony continued staring at the photograph.
“A woman I was told died three years ago.”
The restaurant seemed to tilt beneath me.
June’s breath warmed my neck.
Anthony put the photograph back into the envelope.
Then he made a decision without asking anyone’s permission.
“You’re coming with us.”
“No.”
His eyes sharpened.
“That was not a request.”
I held June tighter.
“You cannot abduct me from my workplace.”
“I can keep my daughter from being separated from the first person she has ever called for.”
“I am not her mother.”
June stirred against me.
“Mom.”
May you like
Anthony’s face hardened with something close to pain.
Neither of us believed my denial anymore.
