From inside the ballroom, Camille’s voice rang out brightly.
“Gift time!”
Alistair looked physically ill.
I touched his sleeve lightly.
“Wrong woman,” I whispered.
“What?”
“She thought she stole from someone weak.”
Then I walked back toward the applause.
PART 3
Camille opened lace blankets, tiny shoes, silver baby spoons engraved with Baby Mercer. Every present made her glow brighter. Every compliment made Daniel stand taller.
Then she reached for my blue box.
The atmosphere shifted before she even untied the ribbon.
Guests leaned forward curiously. Daniel crossed his arms. Camille lifted the lid with exaggerated sweetness.
“Oh, Naomi,” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “You really shouldn’t have.”
Inside sat a framed document.
Not a birth certificate.
Not a blessing.
A certified DNA report.
Camille’s smile froze instantly.
Daniel frowned. “What the hell is that?”
I stood slowly.
“My gift,” I said calmly, “is the truth.”
A murmur spread through the room immediately.