Outside the glass doors, rain poured down in heavy sheets, turning the city lights into blurred streaks of gold and white.
A man stood there.
Dark coat. Still posture. Eyes locked directly on her.
And that smile… it wasn’t warm.
It was certain.
Victoria’s heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“No…” she whispered.
The girl gently touched Victoria’s sleeve.
“He said you’d say that too.”
Victoria turned sharply back to her.
“Who is he?”
The girl hesitated for the first time.
Then softly:
“My father.”
The word hit harder than any sound in the room.
Victoria staggered back slightly.
“That’s impossible,” she breathed. “Your mother— Rosewood— she… she died twelve years ago.”
The girl’s eyes darkened.
“She didn’t die.”
Silence.
The restaurant suddenly felt too bright, too loud, too normal for what was happening.
Victoria’s hands shook.
“Then where is she?”
The girl looked toward the man outside again.
And whispered:
“She’s been waiting for you to come back.”
The man in the rain slowly lifted his hand… and placed it against the glass.
On his finger — the same rose-shaped ring.
Victoria’s vision blurred.
Because she recognized it.
It was the ring she buried with her sister.
