Chapter 1 - “DON’T CALL YOURSELF MY MOTHER HERE”Sarah stared at Margaret as if she were a stranger.
The woman who had held her through childhood fevers, who had stayed awake when Sarah was afraid of thunderstorms, who had worked until her fingers cracked so Sarah could attend the best schools, now stood beneath the crystal chandeliers looking smaller than ever.
Margaret swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I only wanted to give you this.”
She lifted the velvet box.
Sarah immediately lowered her hand.
“Not here.”
Margaret looked toward the photographers.
Then toward the enormous floral arrangements.
Then back at Sarah.
“I thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
The words landed harder than Sarah intended.
Margaret’s fingers tightened around the box.
David Whitmore, Sarah’s fiancé, had been speaking with his father across the room. He noticed the tension and approached.
“What’s happening?”
Sarah turned quickly.
“Nothing.”
Margaret smiled.
“It’s all right.”
David looked from Sarah to Margaret.
“Margaret, you came.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.”
David smiled warmly.
“I’m glad.”
Sarah’s expression tightened.
David placed a hand on Margaret’s shoulder.
“You should sit with my parents.”
Sarah’s eyes widened.
“No.”
The word came out too quickly.
Everyone nearby turned.
David frowned.
“Why not?”
Sarah forced a laugh.
“I mean… she probably wants somewhere quieter.”
Margaret stepped backward.
“I can sit wherever you want.”
David looked at Sarah for several seconds.
Then he noticed something.
The velvet box.
“What’s inside?”
Margaret looked down.
“Something that belonged to Sarah.”
David smiled.
“Then she should have it.”
Sarah’s face went pale.
“David, please.”
Margaret opened the box slightly.
Inside was the sapphire brooch.
David stared.
“That’s beautiful.”
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
“I found it with Sarah when she was a baby.”
David froze.
“What?”
Sarah stepped between them.
“Margaret, stop.”
But David had already heard the words.
“When she was a baby?”
Margaret nodded.
“She was left outside St. Anne’s Church.”
The room seemed to grow quieter.
Sarah's heart began pounding.
“Margaret.”
“I raised her,” Margaret continued softly. “The brooch was with her.”
David stared at Sarah.
“You never told me.”
Sarah couldn't answer.
Across the room, David's mother, Eleanor Whitmore, had also heard.
Her face changed instantly.
“What did you just say?”
Margaret looked toward her.
“I said Sarah was left at St. Anne’s.”
Eleanor walked closer.
“Twenty-eight years ago?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor's lips parted.
For the first time that day, the elegant woman looked genuinely frightened.
“Twenty-eight years ago,” she whispered, “what month?”
Margaret frowned.
“December.”
Eleanor took a step backward.
David noticed.
“Mom?”
Eleanor looked at Sarah.
Then at the sapphire.
Then at Margaret.
And finally she whispered something that nobody expected.
“That child wasn't abandoned.”
The room went silent.
Margaret's face drained of color.
“What?”
May you like
Eleanor's hand began trembling.
“She was taken.”
