Chapter Thirty-five: Confrontation

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird won't sing, Momma's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that--" Sydney stopped short, smiling a bit sheepishly at her husband, who leaned against the doorjamb, smiling.

"Don't stop on my account," he said, striding across the room to kiss her on the top of her head. She smiled up at him adoringly, then down at the precious pink bundle in her arms. "You finally got her to go to sleep, huh?" Michael whispered.

"Mmm." Sydney pressed a feather light kiss to her daughter's forehead, then rose to deposit the sleeping infant into her crib. Michael looped an arm around his wife's waist, and she leaned against him as they stared down at their little girl. "Is she going to be okay, you think?"

"Of course," Michael said, planting a tiny, sweet kiss on her neck. "She's tough. Just like her mommy."

It was almost humorous, really. Things had been so touch and go for Emily at the beginning, all they'd worried about was keeping her alive. When she was a little older, they'd stressed over her frequent asthma attacks, and just in the last few months, Michael had stayed up nights worrying that she was going to get herself, at worst, pregnant, and at best, heartbroken. How funny that they hadn't devoted any real time to worrying that she could be snatched away without warning.

"Well, Michael doesn't seem to have changed a bit," Irina sighed then, settling into a chair once the others had gone. "Physically, maybe. A few lines around the eyes, a few gray hairs, but who among us doesn't have those?"

Sydney sat across from her, reluctantly, trying desperately to control her temper. It was hard, though, when her family had been taken from her and her mother was sitting there as if she had invited Sydney merely to reminisce.

"He's still absolutely gorgeous, though," Irina said, eyeing Sydney carefully.

"I know," Sydney said through gritted teeth. She didn't need her mother to tell her how her husband looked. She needed her to tell her what she would have to do to get her daughter back.

Irina leaned back in her chair, the picture of nonchalance. "He still seems to have the tendency to let his emotions get the best of him, though," she said, a bit reprovingly. "That was always his weakness, you know."

"I was the one to get angry over what you said about his father," Sydney pointed out.

"True," Irina agreed, cocking her head to one side. "You always had the temper, Sydney, but Michael always wore his heart on his sleeve. So sad, really," she said with a sigh. "He's so obviously still in mourning for the father he lost more than forty years ago."

Sydney clenched and unclenched her fists, willing herself not to go completely apeshit on her mother. "Tell me where my daughter is."

"You have a beautiful home, Sydney," Irina said, as if Sydney hadn't spoken.

"How did you--" Sydney started to ask, then stopped herself. Of course Irina had seen where she lived. She probably knew every detail of Sydney's life for the last ten years.

"And the restaurant," Irina continued. "I understand it's quite popular among the locals, but that it's somewhat of a secret from the tourists. They always feel delighted when they find it, as if they've come upon a hidden treasure."

Sydney was silent, hardly wanting to make small talk with her mother but not knowing what else to say.

"Let me ask you, my darling," Irina said, offering her a serene smile. "Have the last ten years been worth it? Worth ruining everything your mother worked so hard for?"

"I'll tell you when I get my daughter back," Sydney spat.

"Your daughter," Irina said with a sigh. "She really is quite lovely, Sydney. Your spirit and Michael's charm."

Sydney's heart ached at the mention of her daughter. She wasn't just worried about the girl, she truly missed her. She was such a sweetheart, always twirling about the house chattering on about school and boys and friends. A bubbly presence in a happy but otherwise quiet household. "I believe that you haven't harmed her physically, Mother," Sydney said hesitantly. "But is she-- okay? Is she terrified?"

"She's a tough girl," Irina said, leaning over to give her hand a reassuring pat.

"Yes, she is," Sydney said quietly. "But rather fragile in some ways as well."

"Like her mother," Irina noted.

"Like mine."

The two women locked eyes for a long moment. Finally, after it seemed they would be silent forever, Irina spoke again.

"Well, Sydney. I suppose it's time I told you why you're here."