"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart," Grace chimed in, beaming. "Zeke will come help you move."
Zeke shot his mother a sharp glance, but Grace ignored it completely. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and triumph.
Sydney gave a soft laugh. "That's kind of you, but I think I can manage."
Still, the thought of Zeke stepping into her small two-bedroom home made her nervous. It wasn't much, but to her and Michaela, it was everything.
As they stepped outside the hall, Sydney exhaled. She had told Michaela the night before:
"Your new dad will join us soon. Our family is going to be whole."
Her daughter's eyes had lit up with joy.
That joy alone was worth every ounce of this uncertainty.
Zeke leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his mother's cheek.
"I will see you during the weekend," he murmured, not looking at Grace but speaking the words for someone else.
Sydney.
But his gaze never drifted in her direction. He couldn't bring himself to.
Grace, ever perceptive, caught it. The words were coldly disguised affection. She smiled gently, choosing to respond with her usual finesse.
"I'm late already; I need to catch up with some friends," she said briskly. "Zeke, you'll have to drop Sydney at her store."
Zeke's jaw tightened. His eyes darted to his mother as if begging her to reconsider, but no words came. He didn't want a scene, not here. Not now.
"There will be no need for that," Sydney said quickly, sensing the tension. "I can take a cab."
Grace shook her head firmly. "No, Syd. It rained hard this morning; you remember the mess it caused. I would rather you avoid that again."
Sydney hesitated. "Okay, Ma."
Grace hid a smile. She had intentionally driven herself today, choosing not to arrive with a chauffeur or any hint of status.
She didn't want Sydney to suspect their family's wealth. Not yet. Not when things were still so fragile.
Zeke let out a long sigh and turned on his heel.
"I will wait in the car," he muttered, frowning like a child denied his favorite toy.
Sydney gave Grace a quick hug and whispered her thanks before hurrying after him. She didn't want to inconvenience him any more than necessary. Not that he seemed inclined to make this easy.
Inside the car, Zeke didn't speak a word. The silence between them was stifling, heavier than the humidity clinging to the post-rain air. Sydney sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring out of the window, trying to steady her heartbeat.
"Right there," she said softly, pointing to a spot in front of her store.
But Zeke had already slowed to a stop; he knew exactly where her store was. He had it checked weeks ago. Dan had investigated her before he had even agreed to the marriage.
The report was shallow, though. Dan hadn't gone deep; he merely found that Sydney had moved to Crest Street while pregnant, accompanied by her younger sister. She was now married and living elsewhere. Since then, Sydney had lived alone with her daughter. No man had ever been seen visiting.
Sydney always told people that Michaela's father had died after getting her pregnant. She had told Grace the same thing.
The Forbes family had quietly accepted that story. But in their world, truth mattered, especially when inheritance and legacy were at stake. No one wanted a surprise paternity scandal years down the line.
"Thank you," Sydney said quietly as she opened the door.
Zeke gave a wordless nod.
"Would you like…" she started, mustering the courage to offer him coffee.
But he was already gone.
The tyres screeched faintly as the car zoomed away, cutting off her words, cutting off her kind gesture.
Sydney stood there for a moment, blinking against the rising sunlight. She had wanted to offer him a moment of peace. A sip of warmth. Something. Anything.
Instead, she opened the door to her store in silence and walked in alone.
She cleaned her small shop with practiced movements, putting everything in place. The smell of paper, ink, and fresh wood filled the space. It was hers. It wasn't grand, but it was honest work, and it kept food on the table for Mick.
In the tiny kitchenette behind the counter, she heated up the breakfast she had packed from home, eating quickly, quietly. As she finished washing the plate, the front door burst open.
"Sydney!"
A familiar voice echoed into the back room.
She smiled, wiping her hands. "Yes, I'm coming! I'm in the kitchen."
She paused for a second. That voice, she knew it.
When she stepped out, her eyes went wide.
"Derek!"
She ran to him and threw her arms around his shoulders, laughing with surprise. He wrapped his arms around her too, the embrace lingering a little longer.
"When did you get back?" she asked, still smiling, stepping back to get a better look at him.
"Last night," he grinned. "I wanted to surprise you first thing this morning, but the rain beat me to it."
"You wouldn't have met me if you did; I was out earlier."
Derek Smith. Her childhood friend. Her silent protector. Her rock during many hard days.
They had grown up together before his family moved to Brightcanon. Later, they found themselves at the same university; he studied medicine, and she studied fine art.
She graduated first, he left for overseas training shortly after. His residency and further studies had kept him abroad for years.
But they stayed in touch. Derek had always been there from afar, quietly helping her when he could. He had even played a part in helping her secure the lease for her shop, using his family's influence.
Still, Sydney had always been clear; she didn't want handouts. She would pay him back. Every cent. Every favour.
"Did something happen with Mick?" Derek asked gently. "Or was it just the rain that delayed you?"
"No, no, Mick is fine. I just… had to be somewhere before opening the shop."
But Derek's eyes were no longer on hers.
They were fixed on her left hand.
The ring.