“Baby Voss?”Detective Inspector Collins repeated the words without changing her expression.I nodded.“That’s what was written on the envelope.”“Are you certain?”“Yes.”Priya turned her chair towards me. “Amara, you told me Lucien didn’t know you were pregnant.”“He didn’t. At least, I never told him.”“Then how could he have given you an envelope addressed to your unborn child?”That was the question none of us could answer.I closed my eyes briefly, not to calm myself, but to reconstruct the morning.Our bedroom. The pale curtains drawn against the sun. A cream envelope on the dressing table beside Lucien’s watch.He had been standing near the wardrobe, fastening his cufflinks.Celeste needs this signed before Friday.I remembered picking up the envelope.The family crest had caught the light.And beneath it, the words I had barely considered.Baby Voss.At the time, I’d assumed it was an affectionate reference to the possibility of children someday. Lucien’s family had a habit o
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