The change was immediate. The crying stopped. Ava’s fists loosened, her body relaxed, and she let out a soft sound that barely resembled a sob before resting her cheek against Matthew’s chest. The hallway felt suspended in disbelief.
Talia pressed a hand to her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
Matthew did not smile. He was staring at the small silver pendant hanging from the baby’s neck. The color drained from his face. His fingers hovered near the medal, then gently turned it so the light caught the engraved letters. His breath caught in his throat.
“AB,” he whispered, though no one had asked him to speak.
The world around him faded. The polished floors, the staff, the mansion itself disappeared beneath a wave of memories he had spent years forcing into silence.
Ava lifted her head and looked at him, her dark eyes calm and searching, then reached up and brushed her fingers against his jaw. The gesture struck him with a force that left him unsteady.
Matthew handed the baby back to Talia. The crying returned instantly, sharp and desperate, as though Ava had been torn away from something she recognized. She wriggled in her mother’s arms, her gaze locked on Matthew.