Jane F & Peter P
Well. He hadn't expected his biological mother to be quite so clumsy. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. Which meant she already knew. She had to know. Why else would she react that way for some sixteen year-old kid.
So Peter felt no guilt at all as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the postcard. It was faded, frayed along the edges from how often he'd held it. But it would absolutely still be recognizable. He dropped it on the bar in front of her. "Hi, Mom."
The words weren't said with affection. Not really. A part of him was elated. He'd wanted to know her, or his father, or both for so long. But he couldn't help that hint of anger. The part of him that was just...tired. Logically he knew she must have had a reason to give him up. But the system was cruel and Peter was hard around the edges. So his words were, instead, sardonic, almost cruel. "Miss me?" he taunted.