“I left him so you would never have to beg for a scrap of love from a man who treated loyalty like a disposable commodity,” I affirmed.
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Noah reached out, pulling me into a fierce, protective embrace that smelled of autumn wind and fresh laundry.
“You gave me everything I needed, Mom; I never lacked a father because I had you,” he murmured against my hair.
Before I could answer, a sleek black Mercedes Maybach pulled sharply to the curb, its tinted windows rolling down with a mechanical hum.
Vincent Moretti stepped out of the rear passenger cabin alone, his tie undone, looking like a man who had abandoned his kingdom mid-battle.
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“Claire, give me ten minutes alone with you,” Vincent pleaded, standing on the curb with his hands open in desperate surrender.
Noah stepped between us instantly, his young frame squaring off against the older man with absolute, fearless defiance.
