(Blair's POV)
My hands shake as I adjust my hijab for the third time in the car mirror. James drums his fingers against the steering wheel, and even Virginia seems nervous, fidgeting with her purse in the backseat.
"Maybe we should have called first," I whisper.
"She would have hung up," James says flatly. "You know she would have."
He's right, and we all know it. Four years of silence doesn't end with a simple phone call.
The drive to the bakery feels like going to a funeral. My daughter—because she will always be my daughter, no matter what biology says—is twenty minutes away, and I haven't seen her face in four years.
What if she's changed completely? What if she looks at me with the same cold hatred I saw in her eyes the day she left?
What if she never forgives us?
"There it is
