Victoria closed her eyes and let the tears fall freely.
They sat like that for a long time—two strangers bound by blood and miracle—until Victoria finally spoke.
“I need to be sure. For both of us. A DNA test. Today, if possible.”
Rosie nodded, dazed. “If I’m… if this is real, I don’t know how to be anybody’s daughter. I’ve only ever been nobody.”
Victoria cupped her face with trembling hands.
“You have always been my somebody. And that’s enough.”
The test was arranged within the hour—Victoria’s longtime physician owed her more favors than she could count. A discreet lab downtown promised results by the next morning.
That night, Victoria did something she hadn’t done since the fire: she opened the sealed nursery at the Ashford estate.
Dust covers came off tiny furniture. She pulled out the box of things she’d saved—first shoes, hospital bracelet, the christening gown now yellowed with time—and carried them to the guest room where Rosie sat on the edge of the bed, still wearing the black caterer’s uniform because she owned nothing else.
Victoria laid the tiny white dress across Rosie’s lap.
“You wore this the day I gave you that necklace.”