For the first time since entering the river, Maria forgot the cold.

With one shaking hand, she pulled the baby cloth open just enough to see what had been hidden against the child’s chest.

It was a small silver crest.

Her breath stopped.

The same crest hung from the angry man’s coat on the riverbank.

Maria looked back at him.

His face had gone white.

“You knew,” she whispered.

The family behind him turned toward him slowly.

The man shook his head, but his voice failed before any lie could leave his mouth.

Maria lifted the crest higher, her hand trembling in the rain.

“You told them this child was shame.”

The baby moved softly against her heart.

Maria’s voice broke, but carried across the water.

“But he is yours.”

The riverbank fell silent.

The man stepped back as if the truth itself had struck him.

Then an old woman from the family pushed past him, staring at the baby through tears.

“Bring him back,” she whispered.

Maria held the child closer.

“No,” she said. “You had your chance.”