The playground at Central Park buzzed with the kind of chaos only five-year-olds could create. Swings squeaked, slides whooshed, and somewhere near the monkey bars, a little boy was crying because he'd dropped his juice box. Victoria sat on a bench thirty feet away, pretending to read the Wall Street Journal while her heart hammered against her ribs.
Emma was here. Her baby girl, all grown up and golden in the afternoon sunlight.
Victoria had been watching for twenty minutes, memorizing every detail. Emma's dark hair fell in waves just past her shoulders—longer than Victoria remembered, but still with that stubborn cowlick that refused to stay flat. She wore a pink dress with white flowers, expensive but practical, the kind of outfit Sara would choose to show off her "perfect" mothering skills. White sneakers with rainbow laces. A small backpack shaped like a unicorn.
She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was a stranger.
The thought hit Victoria like a fist to the stomach. Three years. She'd missed three years of bedtime stories and scraped knees and first days of school. Three years of watching her daughter grow up through a telephoto lens from across the street, like some kind of stalker.
Which, technically, she was.
Emma ran to the top of the slide, her laughter carrying across the playground like music. Victoria's fingers tightened on her newspaper. She'd come here with a plan—a careful, calculated approach to "accidentally" meeting her daughter. But now that the moment was here, she couldn't move. What if Emma didn't remember her? What if she screamed? What if—
"Excuse me, lady?"
Victoria looked up to find a small girl with green eyes standing directly in front of her. Emma. Her Emma, close enough to touch, real and warm and alive.
"Hi there," Victoria managed, her voice surprisingly steady. "Shouldn't you be playing with your friends?"
Emma tilted her head, studying Victoria with the intense focus only children possessed. "I was watching you. You look sad."
"Do I?" Victoria forced a smile. "I'm not sad. Just thinking."
"Daddy says thinking too much makes wrinkles." Emma pointed to her own smooth forehead. "See? No wrinkles. I don't think very much."
Victoria laughed despite herself. "That's probably smart. Thinking is overrated."
"I like your hair," Emma said, reaching out to touch a strand that had escaped Victoria's careful updo. "It's pretty. Like chocolate."
The casual contact sent electricity through Victoria's entire body. Her daughter's fingers were small and warm and perfect, just like she remembered. "Thank you. I like your dress."
"Sara bought it for me. She buys me lots of dresses." Emma's nose wrinkled slightly. "I like pants better, but she says dresses are more ladylike."
"What do you think?"
"I think ladies can wear pants too. My teacher wears pants every day, and she's super ladylike."
Victoria's heart swelled with pride. "Your teacher sounds very smart."
"She is. She teaches us about butterflies and how they come from caterpillars. Did you know caterpillars turn into soup before they become butterflies?"
"Soup?"
"Not the kind you eat," Emma giggled. "Gooey soup inside their cocoons. Then they come out different. Maybe that's what happened to me."
Victoria's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"I used to have a different mommy. She went to heaven when I was little. But maybe she turned into soup and became someone new. Maybe she's still here somewhere, just different."
The words hit Victoria like a physical blow. Her vision blurred, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Emma didn't remember her, but some part of her remembered something. Some instinct, some hope that her mother might still exist in a different form.
"That's..." Victoria cleared her throat. "That's a beautiful thought."
"Can I sit with you?" Emma asked, already climbing onto the bench before Victoria could answer. "Sara's talking to her friends over there, and they're boring."
Victoria looked toward the group of perfectly groomed mothers near the playground entrance. Sara stood in the center, her blonde hair catching the light as she gestured animatedly about something. Probably comparing organic snack brands or debating preschool admissions strategies.
"I won't tell if you won't," Victoria said.
Emma settled beside her, swinging her legs that didn't quite reach the ground. "What's your name?"
"Victoria. What's yours?"
"Emma Stone. But you probably already knew that."
"Why would I know that?"
Emma shrugged with the casual confidence of a child who'd grown up privileged. "Everyone knows who I am. Daddy's famous."
"Famous can be hard sometimes," Victoria said carefully. "Do you like it?"
"Not really. People stare at me a lot. And I can't go to regular places like McDonald's because photographers follow us around." Emma kicked at a fallen leaf. "I just want to be normal sometimes."
Victoria's heart broke a little more. "What would you do if you were normal for a day?"
"Go to McDonald's," Emma said immediately. "And ride the subway. And maybe go to a movie without bodyguards sitting behind us." She paused. "What would you do?"
"I'd spend the whole day with someone I love very much," Victoria said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Someone I haven't seen in a long time."
"Where are they?"
"Far away. But I'm hoping to see them again soon."
Emma nodded solemnly. "I hope you do. Missing people hurts."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching other children play. Victoria memorized everything—the way Emma's hair caught the light, the small scar on her knee from some forgotten accident, the way she hummed under her breath when she was thinking.
"You smell nice," Emma said suddenly, leaning closer. "Like flowers and..." She paused, her small face scrunching in concentration. "Like someone I used to know."
Victoria's blood turned to ice. "Someone you used to know?"
"My old mommy. Before she went to heaven." Emma's eyes filled with tears. "I don't remember her face very much, but sometimes I remember how she smelled. Like you."
The world tilted sideways. Victoria gripped the edge of the bench to keep from reaching out and pulling her daughter into her arms. "That's a nice memory."
"Sara doesn't like it when I talk about my old mommy," Emma whispered, glancing toward the group of mothers. "She says it makes Daddy sad. But I think about her sometimes anyway."
"What do you think about?"
"How maybe she's watching me from heaven. How maybe she misses me too." Emma wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Do you think mommies in heaven can see their babies?"
Victoria's throat closed completely. When she finally managed to speak, her voice was rough with unshed tears. "I think they can. I think they watch over them every single day."
"Really?"
"Really. And I think they love them more than anything in the whole world."
Emma smiled, bright and trusting and beautiful. "That makes me feel better."
Before Victoria could respond, Emma threw her arms around her in a fierce hug. The contact was electric, overwhelming, perfect. Victoria held her daughter for the first time in three years, breathing in her scent, feeling her small heart beat against her chest.
"You give good hugs," Emma mumbled into Victoria's shoulder. "Like my old mommy used to."
Victoria's composure finally cracked. A tear slipped down her cheek as she held Emma tighter, trying to memorize every second of this stolen moment.
"Emma!"
Sara's voice cut through the afternoon like a blade. Victoria looked up to see the blonde woman striding across the playground, her face a mask of barely controlled panic. "Emma, what are you doing? I told you not to talk to strangers."
Emma pulled back from Victoria's arms, confusion written across her small face. "But she's nice, Sara. She smells like—"
"I don't care what she smells like." Sara reached them and immediately grabbed Emma's hand, pulling her away from Victoria. "You know better than this."
"I'm sorry," Victoria said, standing slowly. "She was just being friendly. We were talking about butterflies."
Sara's eyes narrowed as she took in Victoria's appearance. Recognition flickered across her face, followed by something that looked like fear. "You're the woman from last night. From the gala."
"Victoria Crow." Victoria extended her hand, but Sara ignored it.
"What are you doing here?"
"Enjoying the park. Is that a crime?"
"It is when you're targeting children." Sara's grip on Emma's hand tightened until the little girl winced. "Stay away from my daughter."
"Your daughter?" The words slipped out before Victoria could stop them, sharp with too much emotion.
Sara's face went white. "Yes. My daughter. Emma, we're leaving. Now."
"But Sara—" Emma tried to pull away, reaching back toward Victoria. "I want to stay with the nice lady."
"No." Sara yanked Emma's arm hard enough to make her stumble. "We're going home."
As they walked away, Emma looked back over her shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Will I see you again?" she called out. "Please? Will you come back?"
Victoria's heart shattered completely. She nodded, not trusting her voice to work. Emma smiled through her tears and waved as Sara dragged her toward the park exit.
Victoria stood alone in the playground, watching her daughter disappear into the crowd. Other parents stared at her with suspicious eyes, probably wondering what she'd done to upset the obviously wealthy mother and child. She didn't care. Let them stare. Let them whisper.
She'd held her daughter again. She'd heard Emma's voice, seen her smile, felt her warm little body pressed against her chest. It hadn't been enough—it could never be enough—but it was more than she'd had in three years.
And Emma remembered her scent. Some deep, primal part of her daughter's memory still recognized her mother, even after all this time, even after all of Sara's lies and manipulations.
Victoria pulled out her phone and scrolled to a familiar number. James answered on the second ring.
"Did you see her?" he asked without preamble.
"She remembers me," Victoria said, her voice thick with tears. "Not consciously, but she remembers. She said I smell like her old mommy."
"Jesus, Aria—"
"Don't." Victoria's voice turned sharp. "Not in public. And it's Victoria now. It has to be Victoria."
"Right. Sorry. What's the next move?"
Victoria watched a group of children playing on the swings, their laughter echoing across the playground. Somewhere in the city, Sara was probably lecturing Emma about stranger danger, trying to erase the memory of their encounter. But you couldn't erase blood. You couldn't erase love.
"I want full surveillance on Sara," Victoria said. "Every move she makes, every place she goes, everyone she talks to. And I want to know exactly how she disciplines Emma when they're alone."
"You think she's hurting her?"
Victoria remembered the way Sara had grabbed Emma's hand, the fear in the little girl's eyes, the careful way Emma had talked about not mentioning her "old mommy."
"I think Sara's showing her true colors," Victoria said. "And I think it's time the world saw them too."
She hung up and walked away from the playground, her heels clicking against the concrete path. Behind her, children played and laughed and called for their mothers. Ahead of her, the city stretched out like a battlefield.
Victoria Crow had work to do.
End of Chapter 3