Chapter 6

 Elena’s POV 

The smell of scrambled eggs and toast fills my tiny kitchen . Sunlight sneaks through the half-open blinds, painting stripes across the chipped counter . Leo sits on his booster seat , legs swinging, humming something he learned at preschool . His dark curls bounce every time he nods at the cartoon on my phone .

“Mommy, more juice ?” he asks, holding out his plastic cup with both hands .

I pour orange juice , careful not to spill. “Only half, little man. You still have to eat your eggs.”

He scrunches his nose but takes a big bite anyway . I smile. At four, he’s already stubborn about breakfast, just like me.

Four years. That’s how long it’s been since the hospital scare. Four years since I carried him in here screaming, red welts covering his arms from that stupid ceviche the preschool served. Four years since Victoria Hayes—some rich stranger—paid for the VIP room and asked me to bring him to her villa every weekend.

I flip the eggs , the sizzle loud in the quiet morning . My phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Sofia, one of my cleaners .

Sofia: Hayes Global wants us for the executive floor again. Double pay.

I grin. Double pay means new sneakers for Leo. Or maybe that preschool trip to the zoo he keeps talking about.

“Mommy, look!” Leo shoves a crayon drawing under my nose. A stick figure with wild hair : me, probably—holding hands with a smaller one. There’s a weird brown blob on the smaller figure’s shoulder. “That’s my special mark,” he says proudly .

My stomach twists . The birthmark. Shaped like a tiny crescent moon , right on his shoulder blade. I kiss the top of his head. “Beautiful, baby . Now finish your eggs.”

I grab my keys , sling my bag over my shoulder. Time to drop him off and head to the office .

The preschool smells like crayons and apple juice . Leo runs to his cubby, waving at Miss Clara. I sign him in, kiss his forehead , and I’m out the door before the guilt hits. Single mom life: always running .

My office is a ten-minute walk ; a cramped room above a laundromat . The sign on the door reads Alvarez Clean & Co. in faded gold letters. Inside , my desk is buried under invoices and schedules. Sofia and Maria ; my two full-time cleaners ; are already prepping supplies.

“Morning, boss ,” Maria says, tossing me a coffee.

“Morning. Hayes Global again?” I ask, trying to hide my fatigue.

She nods. “They love us. Said our team’s the only one that doesn’t leave streaks on the glass .”

I laugh, feeling a warmth spread through my chest . This job, this routine, this little office ; it’s ours . My own life. No one can take that from us. I boot up my laptop. The Hayes contract is my biggest client. Steady money, no drama. I still don’t know who runs the company—just some corporate giant with too many floors and not enough trash cans.

My phone rings.It's an Unknown number. I answer.

“Elena Alvarez?” A bright, chirpy voice. “This is Mia from Hayes Global. Vendor relations?”

“Oh, hey, Mia.” I know her—quirky, always wearing mismatched earrings. She’s the one who recommended us for the executive floor.

“We’re throwing a Family Day next Saturday,” she says. “Food, games, bounce houses. We’d love for your team to come. Bring the kiddo!”

I hesitate. Social events aren’t my thing. Too many questions. Too many eyes.

“It’s a good exposure,” Mia adds. “Plus, free food. And I heard your little guy’s a riot.”

I smile despite myself. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do it,” she says. “You deserve a day off.”

I hang up, staring at the screen. Family Day. Leo would love it.

I pick Leo up at three. He barrels into my legs, backpack bouncing.

“Mommy, we made paper airplanes!”

“Show me at home, okay?”

We walk the six blocks to our apartment. He chatters the whole way—about airplanes, about how Timmy ate glue, about how Miss Clara said he’s the best color-er in class.

Inside, I start dinner. Mac and cheese — his favorite. My phone buzzes again. it's Mila this time .

Mila : Coffee tomorrow? My treat. Bring the little rascal .

I smile. Mila. My rock . The one who held my hair when I puked at 3 a.m. during pregnancy . The one who showed up with diapers and takeout when I was too tired to move .

Me: He’s all yours . 10 a.m.?

Mila : Deal.

She’s already at the café when I arrive, Leo clutching my hand. She waves from a corner table, two iced coffees waiting.

“Auntie Mila!” Leo lets go and runs. She scoops him up , kissing his cheeks . “Look at you, big man ! Almost taller than me.”

I slide into the seat across from her . “He’s four, not fourteen .”

Mila grins. “Give it time.”

Leo climbs into her lap, already stealing sips of her coffee. I let him. One sip won’t kill him.

“So,” Mila says, eyeing me. “Family Day at Hayes Global. You going?”

I groan. “Mia invited me. I said maybe.”

“You should go,” she says. “Leo would love it. And you need to get out more.”

“I get out.”

“To preschool and the laundromat. Real wild.”

I roll my eyes . “I’m fine .”

She leans in , voice soft. “You’re not fine. You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”

I look away. She’s not wrong.

“You ever think about dating?” she asks.

I snort. “With what time?”

“Make time. You’re twenty-seven, not seventy.”

I sip my coffee . The memory flashes ; Julian’s hands on my waist, his voice in my ear. My fox. I shove it down .

“That was one night,” I say. “Ancient history.”

Mila raises an eyebrow . “The coma thing....”

“Was probably a lie,” I cut in. “Or an excuse. He’s engaged now. I googled him. Giselle Romano. Some heiress.”

Mila winces. “Still. You deserve more than mac and cheese and invoices.”

Leo tugs my sleeve . “Mommy, can we go to Grandma Victoria’s this weekend ?”

I nod. “Of course, baby.”

Mila smiles. “See? You have people. Let them in.”

That night , I tuck Leo into bed. His room is small but cozy ; walls covered in his drawings, a nightlight shaped like a rocket .

“Story?” he asks, eyes heavy.

I grab The Little Prince . We’re on chapter six. I read softly , my voice the only sound in the apartment .

When he’s asleep , I sit on the edge of his bed. His tiny hand curls around my finger . I trace the birthmark on his shoulder . It’s darker now, more defined . Like a secret he was born with .

I think of my own family. Serena’s cold smile. Richard’s silence. Luna’s smirk when I told them I was pregnant . You’re on your own . I left the next day. Haven’t looked back.

I won’t let that poison touch him.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. An email. From Hayes Global.

Subject: Vendor Family Day – You’re Invited!

I open it. The logo is sleek. The details are cheerful. Bounce houses. Face painting. A speech from the CEO.

My eyes snag on the name.

Julian Hayes.

The room tilts. My pulse thuds in my ears .

Julian Hayes.

It can’t be.

I g****e him again. The same face. Older. Sharper. But the eyes—those storm-gray eyes—haven’t changed.

He’s the CEO.

He’s coming to Miami.

And Leo : my Leo — has his birthmark.

I stare at the screen until the words blur .

It can’t be the same man .