Joyce barely heard her, Seraphine's vision narrowed until everything around them blurred into sound without shape, the chatter of parents, the shuffle of chairs, Leon's distant laughter with another child. None of it felt real anymore.
She knew that mark. It was the same as the birthmark on her stomach, hidden at a place where no one could see it, but Joyce had it on her arm.
Her knees weakened, but she forced herself to kneel slowly, carefully, afraid that any sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile reality this was.
"Joyce," she repeated, her voice barely steady, the name catching in her throat like it had weight. Her fingers hovered just short of touching the girl's arm, as though she feared that contact would either confirm everything or destroy her completely. "That's… that's a beautiful name."
