WHEN HE FINALLY KNEW.

Elena's POV

The plane wheels kissed the tarmac with a heavy sigh. I blinked slowly, watching as the city skyline slipped into view through the oval window. Manhattan. Loud. Busy. Unforgiving. I used to know this place like the back of my hand. Now, it felt like a stranger.

"Elvis, honey, wake up. We're here."

My son stirred beside me, his tiny fingers twitching before he yawned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked up at me, eyes still heavy with sleep, then gave me a sleepy smile.

"We in New York?" he mumbled.

"Yeah," I whispered, brushing his curls from his forehead. "We're home."

Home. The word tasted strange on my tongue. It didn't feel like it used to. There was a time when I thought I'd never come back. But here I was, five years older, maybe wiser, with a changed name and definitely heavier with secrets.

We walked off the plane hand in hand, his little suitcase bumping behind him. I carried my own, smaller than you'd expect for someone who'd been gone so long. But I'd learned to travel light, to shed pieces of myself in every city I passed through.

As we entered the terminal, I spotted her. Enid. My oldest friend. She stood by a railing, waving like she was trying to catch the attention of the entire airport. Her hair was dyed copper now, short and choppy, her outfit was bold and bright in a way only she could pull off.

"Elena!" she shouted, arms already wide as she ran toward me.

I smiled for the first time in hours. A real one. She threw herself into my arms before pulling back to look at Elvis.

"And this must be the famous Elvis," she said, crouching down. "Hi there, buddy."

Elvis blinked up at her. "Do you have candy?"

"Only the best," she said, grinning. "Your mom and I go way back. So that means we're besties too, right?"

He nodded solemnly. "Okay. But I don't like the green ones."

"Duly noted."

She handed him a lollipop from her oversized tote, then stood up and looked at me with softer eyes.

"You look tired," she said.

"I am."

"Come on. Let's get out of here."

Enid's apartment was still on the Upper West Side. Familiar creaky floors. A warm smell of cinnamon and coffee. Too many plants and not enough space. It was exactly how I remembered, down to the mismatched coffee mugs and framed photos of people I hadn't seen in years.

She helped me get Elvis settled into the guest room, tucked him in with an extra blanket, then returned to the kitchen where I sat at the counter, turning a mug between my palms.

"You sure you're okay?" she asked gently.

I nodded, even though I wasn't. "Just... tired."

"You said that already."

"Then I guess it's true."

She leaned against the counter. "So. This business deal. That's why you're here?"

I nodded again.

She didn't ask more. She knew better than to push. We'd been through too many nights of wine and heartbreak for that. But I could feel the question sitting in the room between us, unspoken but alive.

And Elvis. He hadn't asked yet-not really. He was only four. But one day he would.

"Did he ever write?" Enid asked after a long silence.

I didn't answer right away. I looked down at the steam curling from the mug.

"No."

"Did you tell him?"

"No."

Another beat passed.

"I wasn't ready," I said quietly. "Maybe I'm still not."

"Does anyone know?"

I shook my head. "Just you. And Faye."

Enid nodded slowly. "Faye still working for you?"

"She never stopped."

Faye had been my assistant, my confidante, practically my sister since I was twenty-three. She was with me in New Orleans through all the mess, all the silence, all the tears. I didn't deserve her loyalty, but she gave it anyway.

"She's flying in tomorrow," I added. "She booked the hotel for the pitch meeting on Thursday."

Enid whistled. "So it's real."

"Yeah. Big investors. Big chance."

She raised a brow. "And you're bringing it back here? To Manhattan?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"Didn't you?"

I looked away.

Later that night, when the apartment was quiet, I slipped out onto the balcony. The city glowed below, traffic humming like a restless heart. I wrapped Enid's old cardigan tighter around my shoulders and closed my eyes.

I remembered the last time I stood in this city, five years ago. Twenty-four, pregnant, scared out of my mind. The walls had closed in on me then. I had run like a coward.

But I didn't regret Elvis. Never him. He was the light in everything.

Still, coming back stirred the dust. Places, faces, names I hadn't spoken in years-it all lived here. Some memories came with warmth. Others... didn't.

Behind me, the door creaked open.

"Elena?" a soft voice said.

I turned. It was Faye. She'd let herself in with the spare key.

I went to her, hugged her tight.

"You look exhausted," she said, pulling back.

"Thanks," I said dryly.

"I meant that lovingly."

She set her suitcase down and pulled out her laptop. "Okay. So. I've gone over the numbers. If this goes the way I think it will, you're looking at a new headquarters and enough capital to run for at least two years. Maybe more if you stretch it."

"Don't get my hopes up."

"I'm not. I'm being realistic. You've built something strong. They'd be stupid not to buy in."

I nodded. But my thoughts drifted. Not to the pitch. Not to the potential success.

But to what would happen if someone recognized me.

If he recognized Elvis.

Faye saw the look on my face and lowered her voice. "Do you think he's still here?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to know?"

I stared out at the skyline, heart twisting. "No," I said. Then softer: "Maybe."

She gave a small sigh, "I just hope you get a happy ending in all of this."

I gently tapped her shoulder and said "it's going to be fine, I'll just do my business and leave as quietly as I came, hopefully"