The boy didn’t respond. He took a shaky step. Then another.
Jonathan instinctively reached forward—but stopped. There was something unmistakable in his son’s expression. Determination.
Ethan walked straight across the ballroom.
Between stunned guests.
Past towering adults who parted instinctively.
He stopped directly in front of Elena.
She froze, glove pressed against marble. Slowly, she lifted her face. The color drained from it. Her eyes flickered toward the crowd, then back to the child, pleading without words.
The room fell silent.
Ethan raised his small hand and pointed.
Jonathan’s heart thundered.
“Jonathan, do something,” Victoria whispered urgently.
But he couldn’t.
Ethan opened his mouth.
And for the first time in two years, he spoke.
“Mama.”
The word carried across the marble like a bell.
A glass shattered somewhere in the back of the room.
Elena’s hand flew to her mouth as tears spilled instantly down her cheeks.
Victoria’s grip tightened painfully. “That’s absurd,” she breathed. “She’s staff.”
Ethan didn’t look away. He stepped closer, voice softer but steady.
“Mama.”
Chaos erupted in hushed whispers.