Richard felt his breath catch. Slowly, instinctively, he reached up and touched the same spot on his own neck. He had been born with that mark. So had his father. His grandfather. A family signature written in skin.
He crouched to Mateo’s level. “Son… may I see your neck for a moment?”
Mateo hesitated, then nodded.
Richard’s fingers trembled as he brushed the air just above the mark. “You were born with this?”
“Yes, sir,” Mateo replied quietly. “Mama says it’s just a moon.”
Richard stood slowly, his eyes lifting to Elena’s.
“Did you ever try to tell me?” he asked, his voice low but steady.
Elena’s composure broke. Tears spilled freely now. “I tried, sir. Years ago. When I first noticed… I went to Mrs. Whitmore. She said if I spread lies like that, I’d lose my job. She said no one would believe a maid over her.”
Richard closed his eyes briefly. The pieces fell into place—an affair long buried in grief and confusion after Caroline’s death, a brief connection he had never fully understood, the timeline he had refused to examine too closely.
“And you stayed silent,” he said quietly.
“I needed the job,” Elena whispered. “I needed to feed my son.”