Chapter 2

I didn't leave.

I looked up the earliest flight home, fully intending to get out of this country that had humiliated me. But there were no good options — nothing for another full day, at least.

So I found a quiet corner of the terminal, pulled my knees to my chest, and made myself as small as possible.

When I was little and the other kids called me names — orphan, girl with no mum — I used to curl up like this. In corners, behind doors. As if making myself smaller meant I couldn't hear them, couldn't feel their shoves and their cruelty landing on my skin.

About an hour later, the arrivals doors opened again, and a woman stepped through.

I glanced at her. Then looked away. Then looked back.

She was wearing an expensive-looking coat, carrying a bag I didn't recognize the brand of. Her hair was styled in loose waves, every inch of her polished and self-assured.

Walking beside her was a teenage girl — beautiful, effortlessly poised — who was tugging on her arm with a pout. "Mum, I'm starving."

The woman laughed and smoothed the girl's hair. "I've already booked us a table at that Michelin place you've been wanting to try. We're taking you out properly for your birthday."

The two of them drifted past me, arm in arm. No one would have noticed the girl curled up in the corner.

But I recognized her.

The way she smiled — eyes curving, a small beauty mark at the corner of her mouth — exactly as Gran had described.

I scrambled to my feet and followed them.

My mother led Sofia to a black Porsche and they pulled away into the traffic, gone in seconds.

I stood on the pavement, waving at nothing, almost screaming her name.

Then I remembered what she'd said, and I stopped.

She didn't want me to disrupt her life.

I thought about the moment she'd opened the car door. Inside, the back seat was piled with surprises — fresh flowers, wrapped gifts, a cake box tied with a satin ribbon.

Sofia had squealed with delight and smothered her with kisses.

I looked down at the tin in my hands. I opened it slowly and ate the last of the shortbread, piece by piece.

She ate at Michelin restaurants now. Gran's old recipe wouldn't even register on her radar.

Just like I didn't.

I dropped the empty tin in the nearest bin.

My phone buzzed.

A bank transfer notification. Fifty thousand pounds.

Then a message: Stella. I'm sorry. This should cover your tuition for the next four years. Please don't come back.

I stared at the accept button for a long time.

My mind ran through the numbers automatically — a habit I'd built in self-defense. I'd earned a scholarship, yes, but I'd been careful with every penny of it. Part of it went to tuition. The rest I stretched thin between living expenses for myself and a small allowance I sent back to Gran every month. When that wasn't enough, I'd taken on tutoring jobs, any odd work I could find after lectures. I'd even set aside a little to buy her something nice.

And I'd made it here. All that saving, all that scrimping.

And now I was being handed fifty thousand pounds to disappear.

Something bitter and heavy settled in my chest. Like I'd finally gotten the answer to the question I'd been carrying for sixteen years — and it was worse than I'd imagined.

I spent the night in the airport.

A cleaner with green eyes asked me in careful English why I wasn't going home.

I searched for the right word for a long time. Finally I managed one.

"Waiting."

Waiting for someone who was never coming.

When dawn broke, I booked a return flight.

Before I went through security, I turned around one last time and looked at the sky through the airport windows. Gray-blue. Indifferent.

And I made myself a quiet promise.

She'd get her wish. I wouldn't come back.

But she would spend the rest of her life remembering exactly what kind of daughter she'd thrown away.

One day, I would stand somewhere so far above her that she couldn't even see it from where she stood.