Red frosting roses climbed up the sides. Gold sprinkles shook loose with every movement.
On top, written in crooked blue icing, were the words that made half the room go silent:
CONGRATULATIONS, SON. YOUR REAL MOM CAME BACK.
Claire Martinez did not move.
She did not speak.
She just held her faded black purse tighter, like she was trying to compress nineteen years of sacrifice into something small enough to survive the moment.
A whisper moved through the crowd.
“Is that his real mother?”
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