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Ten years ago, I loved him enough to burn. Now he hid a pregn@ncy test, Vincent, my Don brother, a necklace. I pushed the cake toward them. “Your order.” Their titles, not their names, left my lips. I met Dominic’s eyes. “I forgot nothing. I simply healed.” Ten years after our divorce, I ran into my ex-husband and my adoptive brother in Brooklyn. We had not seen each other in years. One held the keys to City Hall; the other, the throat of the city's underworld, while I was running a tiny cake shop with a space no larger than a postage stamp. The moment our eyes met, all three of us froze. Then Dominic quietly hid the pregn@ncy test results behind his back, and Vincent slipped the jewelry he had bought for his sister into his coat pocket. I lowered my gaze, packed the macarons, and handed the box across the counter with polite calm. "Your order is ready, gentlemen. Enjoy." The trans@ctional coldness in my voice cut through them like a winter draft. As they reached the door, Dominic suddenly turned back. "You once said you'd never make cheesecake again." He paused. "I remember." I offered a courteous smile. "You have a good memory, Mr. Mayor." Children were laughing out in the street, the sound muted through the glass door, yet it could not disperse the heavy stillness inside the shop. The two men who had once worked together to drive me out of Manhattan still stood at the counter, unwilling to leave. Dominic clutched the macaron box, his throat tightening. "Rhea's pregn@ncy sympt0ms have been rough. She thinks Manhattan is too crowded, too noisy. We brought her to Brooklyn for a while." He paused. "And your mother… she came too. Do you want to see her?" I wiped down a piping bag and shook my head. "There's no need. Send my regards to Madre Natalie." I hesitated, then added, "Or don't mention me. It may cause misunderstandings." Vincent's fingers tightened, "Amelia, these past years, we actually—" "Amelia!" The door flew open, and Ember, her fiery red hair tumbling o
