The sunlight filtered through the balcony doors, dancing across the sheets where James still slept beside me. Peace had settled into his face, softening the sharp edges of a man who'd spent years fighting shadows.
I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertip, memorizing him all over again.
And for the first time in years, I wasn't looking over my shoulder.
> No more enemies.
No more secrets.
Just love.
Or so I thought.
---
We were planning a quiet wedding.
No press. No billion-dollar venues. Just the people who mattered, and a promise that this time, everything would be real.
I was going over the guest list when Sophia knocked on my door, her expression unreadable.
"There's a letter for you," she said. "Hand-delivered. No postage. No return address."
I frowned and reached for the thick white envelope.
The handwriting was elegant. Feminine.
It was addressed to me in full:
> Miss Amelia Skye Moore.
My full name. A name I hadn't heard spoken aloud in years.
I opened it with cautious fingers.
Inside was a folded piece of cream stationery, and at the top, in looping ink, read:
> "I've watched you grow from a distance for far too long.
It's time you knew the truth.
About your mother.
About your name.
About why they really adopted you."
There was no signature.
Just three letters.
> E.M.W.
---
I sat frozen for a long moment.
James walked in moments later, brushing his damp hair with a towel.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
I handed him the letter.
He read it once. Twice. His brow furrowed.
"Do you know who that is?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"No. But if they know my full name — Skye — they know something only my adoption records would contain."
He sat beside me, wrapping his arm around my waist.
"You don't have to open that door," he said gently. "Not unless you're ready."
I looked at him, my heart racing. "But what if this is a door to who I really am?"
He nodded slowly.
"Then I'll stand beside you when you open it."
---
That night, I sat at my old desk with the letter and the envelope, examining every inch.
Inside the envelope's flap, almost invisible, was a second slip of paper.
It was a birth certificate.
Old.
Stamped in blue ink.
My eyes darted to the parents' names.
Mother: Evelyn Margot Windsor.
Father: — [data redacted]
My breath hitched.
Windsor.
I dropped the paper and looked at James in disbelief.
"This can't be."
He took the slip gently and examined it.
"My father only had one legal marriage. One known son. But my uncle—" His voice trailed off.
"What?" I asked.
He looked up at me, expression unreadable.
"Evelyn was my uncle's first wife. But she vanished before I turned ten. No one ever spoke of her again. My family buried her name like she never existed."
"Do you think it's possible?" I whispered. "That she's… my mother?"
He was quiet.
Then: "If it's true, Amelia, then you're not just adopted into this world."
"You were born into it."
---