She mentioned no names. She refused to turn her children’s lives into tabloid entertainment. She didn’t expose Beatrice’s crimes or describe the medical cover-up.
At Alex’s apartment, the four children sat on the floor watching the interview while Alex struggled with a complicated plastic race-car track.
“Is Mom talking about you?” Leo asked, looking up from the floor.
“I hope not,” Alex joked.
“You’re scared of her,” Maya teased.
“Terrified,” Alex admitted.
Clara climbed onto his back and gently tugged his ear. “Daddy, that blue piece goes on the other side.”
Alex froze completely.
Clara continued pointing toward the track, unaware of the significance of the word that had slipped out so naturally. “Daddy, right there.”
Elena, who had just entered through the front door with her key, heard everything from the entryway.
Alex looked up, his eyes finding Elena’s across the room. She didn’t create a scene or make the moment into something bigger than it was. She simply gave him a small, approving nod.
