The millionaire’s fiancée pushed the maid’s daughter off the piano—unaware that a single detail would expose a truth she could never take back

but couldn’t speak.

“Marisol,” he said, more quietly. “How old is Nora?”

Celeste moved forward.

“This is absurd. You’re not going to believe an insinuation from a resentful employee just because a little girl—”

Nora’s eyes drifted to Celeste. They settled on the ring glittering on her hand.

“Mom,” she murmured, “that lady is wearing your ring.”