CEO saw his baby talking to a poor woman in the park. He froze when she said, “I used to be your wife’s nurse.” The Saturday morning air was crisp, laced with the scent of pine and freshly cut grass. Parents pushed strollers, dogs tugged on leashes, and somewhere in the distance, a street musician played soft jazz on a saxophone.

Vincent Cole moved through the park with his usual quiet precision, one hand resting in the pocket of his tailored coat, the other holding a warm paper cup of black coffee. He walked beside a small girl in a pink dress, his daughter Emily. Her curls bounced with every step, her tiny hands clutching a worn stuffed bunny.

Vincent glanced down at her, offering a half smile. “You’re walking like a little tornado,” he said. Emily giggled and twirled once before skipping ahead. Vincent’s phone buzzed. He answered without hesitation. “Yeah, go ahead,” he said. The voice on the other end started rattling off numbers, stock movements, projections, a marketing issue in the West Coast branch. Vincent’s focus narrowed and the world faded into the background.

He stepped aside from the path, nodding quietly at intervals, the voice in his ear growing louder than the birds overhead. He didn’t notice Emily veer off. Didn’t see her tiny figure cross the grass and run toward the far bench beneath an old maple tree. He didn’t hear her call out softly, “Hi.” But he heard her laugh and then silence. Vincent turned his heart leaping. Emily.

No answer. He spun in a slow circle, searching until he saw her across the field on the bench. Emily was hugging someone, a woman he didn’t recognize. The woman sat hunched forward, her arms hovering awkwardly as Emily clung to her waist. Her clothes were worn and faded, stre with dust and city grime.

Her coat hung loosely from her shoulders, its sleeves torn at the cuffs. A pair of cracked boots peeped out beneath frayed jeans. Her hair was blonde, long, and slightly curled wild from wind and lack of care. It caught the light in a way that seemed too soft for someone who looked so hardened by life. Vincent’s pulse quickened.

He moved fast, a single thought echoing. Emily. He cut across the lawn in long strides, ignoring the curious glances from other parents. As he reached them, he scooped Emily up with one arm, pulling her close to his chest. With his other hand, he grabbed the woman’s wrist, not harshly, but firmly enough to separate her from his daughter.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. The woman didn’t flinch. Her eyes were wide, startled, but remained calm. “I didn’t touch her,” she said. Vincent stepped back slightly, positioning himself between the woman and his child. Emily clung to his shoulder, looking confused, but not frightened.

“She ran to me,” the woman added, her voice softer now. “I didn’t call her over.” Vincent looked her over again. There was something in her face beneath the dirt behind the exhaustion that made him hesitate. She didn’t seem dangerous, just deeply tired. He narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?” The woman looked at him fully for the first time.

Her face was pale, but her eyes were clear startlingly, so a storm of blue and gray behind glass. “No,” she said. “But I know you.” Vincent’s grip on Emily shifted slightly. “Then who are you?” The woman glanced down at Emily, then back up at him. Her voice didn’t shake or rise. It came out quiet, steady, almost apologetic. I used to be your wife’s nurse. Vincent froze at the woman’s words.

The world around him narrowed to the sound of her voice, and his own heartbeat pounded in the silence between them. For a moment, he simply stared, unsure whether he had misheard. “What did you just say?” he finally asked. The woman met his gaze evenly. “Your wife,” she said, her tone unchanging. “Lena Cole, I was her nurse.

” Something in the way she said Lena’s name without hesitation, without stumbling, hit him harder than the words themselves. It wasn’t the sound of someone guessing. It was the sound of someone remembering. Vincent adjusted Emily in his arms, his jaw tightening. “How do you know my daughter’s name?” The woman’s eyes softened for just an instant. She used to sit on her mother’s lap and draw pictures of the two of you.

I was there when she learned to say your name properly. I was there when Lena She stopped biting off the end of the sentence. Vincent’s voice hardened. Enough. He took a step forward, lowering his tone so only she could hear. If this is some kind of scam, she shook her head. No scam, she interrupted softly.

Then what do you want from us? The woman hesitated, glancing past him toward the path lined with trees and sunlight. Nothing. I don’t want anything, Mr. Cole. Her calmness unsettled him. There was no tremor in her voice, no plea, no hint of desperation, just a steadiness that made him feel smaller somehow. Then why approach my child? He pressed.

She came to me, the woman said. I was sitting here and she just recognized me. That’s impossible. Maybe, she murmured, her voice low. Or maybe some things don’t fade as easily as we wish they would. Vincent’s grip on Emily tightened. He could feel her small fingers playing absently with the edge of his collar, unaware of the tension coiling through him.

The woman took a breath, brushing a strand of tangled hair from her face. My name is Maya Rivers. I worked at St. Mark’s Hospital in paliotative care. The name jolted a memory and Vincent, loose, faint, half-formed, a blonde nurse at the edge of his vision during Lena’s final days. Always quiet, always in the background.

Vincent forced the image away. If you were there, you know my wife died peacefully, he said. You know I took care of everything she needed. Maya’s eyes flickered, showing something between pity and restraint. I know she loved you deeply, she said softly, and that she never stopped believing in you. But, but what, Vincent demanded.

Maya hesitated for the first time her calm cracking just slightly. If you knew what I know about her treatment about the choices that were made, you might not look at your company the same way again. Vincent’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. What are you implying? I’m not implying anything,” she said steady once more. “I’m telling you that the truth isn’t always in the report you sign, Mr.

Cole.” He stared at her, anger rising in him, a shield for the unease crawling beneath his ribs. “You don’t get to use my wife to make accusations,” he stated. “You don’t show up out of nowhere and talk in riddles.” Maya’s eyes didn’t leave his. Then maybe stop looking away from what’s right in front of you,” she countered. Vincent said nothing.

The only sound was the rustling of leaves above them and Emily’s soft breathing against his shoulder. He finally turned, muttering, “We’re done here.” As he walked away, Emily lifted her head, peeking over his shoulder. Her small hand waved once in the air. Maya didn’t wave back.

She simply watched them go, her expression unreadable. sad, resigned, and something else Vincent couldn’t name. But as he carried his daughter toward the car, he could still feel it. The weight of that woman’s eyes following him, and the words she’d left behind, echoing like a warning he didn’t yet understand.

You might never see your company the same way again. That night, Vincent sat at his desk, the house unnervingly quiet. Emily had fallen asleep hours ago, her bunny tucked under one arm. The digital clock on the wall blinked past midnight, but Vincent’s mind refused rest. His laptop glowed in the dim study.

The folder labeled Lena’s last months had remained unopened since her funeral. He hesitated, then clicked it open. Dozens of short video clips lined the screen, some taken by nurses, some by Lena herself. Most were simple moments Emily on her mother’s lap. Lena brushing the girl’s curls, whispering lullabibies despite her weakening breath.

Vincent swallowed hard, his throat tight as he pressed play on one at random. Lena appeared on the hospital bed, pale but smiling. She waved at the camera. “Emily,” she said softly. “When you’re older and watch this, just know mommy loved you more than sunshine.” A laugh echoed behind the camera. Vincent paused. He rewound the clip. A soft laugh, not his, a woman’s voice. He clicked another video.

This time, Emily toddled across the hospital room with a stuffed bear. Lena clapped gently, her breath short but joyful. Behind them, barely in frame, was a young woman in Scrub’s blonde hair, pulled into a loose bun, standing beside an IV machine. Vincent leaned forward, then clicked yet another video. Lena was propped up in bed sketching something on a notepad.

The camera panned slightly shaky to reveal the same blonde figure sitting in a chair gently massaging Lena’s hand. Lena then looked up and said something to her, smiling with the kind of softness that came only with trust. Vincent paused again, scrubbing backwards slower this time.

The woman laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her face turned toward the camera. Bright eyes, youthful cheeks, a tired but warm smile. It was her. It was Maya. He didn’t remember her. He had come and gone too quickly during that time, slipping into the hospital late at night, speaking quietly to doctors, standing at Lena’s side when she slept.

But now, seeing Maya there, not just present, but close, unsettled something deep within him. He opened another video. This time, Lena wasn’t speaking. She was asleep. The camera shook a little as if the person filming hadn’t meant to turn it on. A brief moment passed. Then, Maya’s face appeared bent over the bed, adjusting a blanket. Just for a second, she looked directly into the camera.

It was brief, barely a beat, but the look was clear, not surprised, not angry, just a quiet, knowing gaze, as if she saw someone watching from the future. Vincent paused the video there. Her expression was unreadable, but something about it settled in his chest like a stone. He opened his work laptop and logged into the hospital’s archival system.

His company had helped fund their infrastructure years ago, and he still had limited access. He typed Maya Rivers, but found no matches. He frowned. He searched again, narrowing the dates. Nothing. No employee records, no incident reports, not even a volunteer log. She was gone erased. That was not normal.

He tapped his fingers on the desk, then opened his phone and scrolled through contacts until he found a familiar name, Dr. Aaron Keller, a former paliotative care physician who had worked closely with Lena during her final months. He hesitated, then texted, “Do you remember a nurse named Maya Rivers Blonde? Young worked during Lena’s stay. The reply came faster than expected. Yes, I remember her. She was let go under strange circumstances.

If I were you, I’d find out why. Vincent stared at the message, the silence around him stretching. Outside the window, the wind stirred the trees, and somewhere down the hall, Emily murmured in her sleep. Vincent sat still, eyes locked on the screen, as the first real threat of doubt began to tighten around him.

Vincent found her again at the same park bench. It was late afternoon, the light softer, now golden, and stretched thin through the branches. Maya sat alone, feeding crumbs to a pair of pigeons that fluttered near her boots. She didn’t look up when he approached, but she didn’t seem surprised either.

He stood there for a moment, hands in the pockets of his coat, unsure of what he was even doing. Then finally, he spoke. “I want answers.” Maya brushed her hands clean and folded them in her lap. “I figured you’d come back.” Vincent sat down beside her, careful to keep space between them. “Start from the beginning.” Maya glanced at the pigeons, then at the patchy clouds drifting across the sky. “Lena was dying,” she said simply.

You knew that, but what you didn’t know is that she wanted to fight. Even in her last weeks, she still believed there was a chance. Vincent’s jaw tightened. There was no viable treatment. There was an experimental drug, Maya said, her voice low. Something your company had in development, a trial that wasn’t public yet, but she read about it. I don’t know how. Maybe old connections.

Maybe a nurse on another floor, but she asked me to help her apply for it. Vincent blinked. We weren’t accepting terminal cases for that trial. The board wasn’t I know. Maya cut in gently. That’s why we did it quietly. Off the record, I filed the application through someone I trusted in the research wing.

I knew the risk. I could have lost my job. She looked down at her hands, fingers tightening. I just couldn’t say no to her. Maya continued. She had Emily’s picture taped above her bed, she’d stare at it at night and whisper, “One more year, just one more birthday.” I thought maybe, even if it was false hope, it would matter.

Vincent felt something shift inside him, a quiet crack forming beneath everything he thought he understood. “What happened?” he asked. The application was flagged. Someone higher up saw her name and pulled it. A week later, I was let go. No warning, no explanation, just escorted out. Vincent turned toward her fully now, studying her face.

Why didn’t you come to me? Maya smiled faintly, but there was no joy in it. You were barely sleeping, she explained. You looked like a ghost every time you visited, and Lena made me promise not to tell you. She said she didn’t want to burden you more. Vincent exhaled slowly, the air thick in his chest. Maya looked away.

The last night, she recounted, she held my hand and said, “I’m not afraid to die. I’m just afraid Emily will grow up without remembering who I was.” The words hit him harder than he expected. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he saw Lena’s smile, dim but warm, just as it used to be when she read to Emily in bed. “And you kept that to yourself,” he murmured.

Maya nodded. I didn’t want to ruin what she wanted to protect. She loved you. She wanted peace for both of you. Vincent didn’t speak for a while. A squirrel darted past them and the wind picked up rustling the leaves overhead. Finally, he asked, “Why are you telling me now?” “Because Emily remembered me,” Maya said.

“And I saw how she looked at you and how you looked at me. You deserve the truth, even if it hurts.” Vincent stared ahead, unsure of what to say. In the silence, Maya stood. That’s all I know. The rest is yours to find. Then she walked away, leaving him on the bench, caught between memory and revelation. They met again, not by chance this time. Vincent had asked to see her.

No lawyers, no security, no formal setting, just the two of them at a coffee shop tucked beneath an overpass where the clink of cheap porcelain and the hiss of an old espresso machine served as background noise. Maya wore the same coat, but her hair was a bit neater pulled back in a low, messy bun. There was still dirt under her fingernails.

Vincent didn’t know how to begin. He sat across from her elbows, resting on the chipped table, his coffee untouched. I need to understand what happened after, he said. Maya nodded. Of course you do. She stirred her tea without drinking it. Her eyes didn’t avoid his. In fact, they met his with a kind of quiet strength that made Vincent feel strangely unsteady.

The day after Lena died, I was asked to leave the hospital, she began. No official reason, just a meeting with HR, then a termination notice. Because of the application, Vincent stated. Maya nodded. And more. They told the staff I had made a fatal mistake that a patient under my care died because of a dosage error. I didn’t get a chance to defend myself.

The words were just placed into the air. And once that happens in medicine, it’s over. Vincent stared at her. But that wasn’t true. No, Mia said calmly. But truth doesn’t always matter. The hospital needed a clean image, and I was easy to erase. She folded her hands together, her voice dropping. No clinic, no nursing home, no hospice would hire me. I had no income.

My license was suspended pending a review that never came. I stayed with a friend for a while then in my car and then nowhere at all. Vincent’s mouth went dry. Why didn’t you sue? She laughed softly, not bitterly, but with a weary resignation. With what money? with what lawyer? Besides, Lena made me promise something.

She looked up at him, and for the first time, he saw real pain behind her steady gaze. On her last night, she squeezed my hand and said, “If something happens to me and Vincent loses his way, help him and help Emily if he can’t.” Vincent said nothing. The words cracked something open in him, and he felt it break quietly like a plate falling in another room. Maya continued.

I thought about going public talking to the press posting online, but your name was tied to the trial. Even if you didn’t know, I couldn’t risk dragging Emily into it. She was just a baby. She didn’t deserve that. Vincent clenched his jaw. So, you disappeared. I didn’t disappear, Maya said. I just stepped aside. Her voice softened.

I worked wherever people didn’t ask questions. I cleaned houses. I bagged groceries. I did night shifts at a gas station in the winter. I once ate rice with hot water for dinner five nights in a row. But I kept coming to the park every Saturday just to see Emily from afar just to know she was okay.

Vincent rubbed his face with both hands. The weight of her words pressed heavily into his chest. “You could have come to me,” he said again, but it sounded weaker this time. Maya smiled just a little. You weren’t ready to see me. Not then. They sat in silence. The hum of the old coffee machine sputtered behind them.

Vincent looked at her differently now, not as a stranger, not even as a ghost from Lena’s past, but as someone who had made herself invisible for his family. She was someone who had chosen to carry a promise when no one else was watching a person who hadn’t just vanished, but had been watching over them like a quiet, unseen guardian. I don’t know what to say, he admitted. You don’t have to say anything, Mia replied gently. I didn’t do it for thanks.

She sipped her tea at last, lukewarm and bitter. I did it because I gave my word to someone who mattered, and I meant it. Vincent stood by the window of his office, watching the city lights shimmer beneath the dusk sky. The skyline was a familiar comfort, steady and distant, unlike everything else around him now.

He had spent the last 72 hours combing through internal company records, late night calls, encrypted files, and silent meetings behind closed doors. What he found wasn’t shocking, not anymore. It was simply confirmation of what Maya had told him. The name on the termination order for Lena’s clinical trial application was clear.

Carl Denim Vincent’s closest friend, his right-hand man, his most trusted ally. He sent the meeting request without a message, just a time in a room. Carl arrived 10 minutes early as always. He still looked like the Carl Vincent had known for over a decade. Polished suit, slight gray at the temple’s confident posture. But now Vincent saw something else, too.

Weariness, calculation, guilt. Vincent didn’t waste time. You pulled Lena’s application, he stated. Carl’s jaw tightened. He didn’t deny it. “She was terminal,” Carl said quietly. “You know how the board evaluates risk.” “You could have come to me,” Vincent countered. “You were grieving, distracted, and this wasn’t just about you, Vincent.

” Carl leaned forward, his voice low. “I have three kids, a mortgage stock options tied to trial success. If Lena God rest her soul, had been admitted and died during testing, the results would have tanked everything. Headlines would have read, “CEO’s wife dies in failed trial. Do you think we’d have survived the fallout?” “She was my wife,” Vincent said through clenched teeth. “Not a liability.

” “I know,” Carl said. “But the company was at a tipping point. We couldn’t afford emotional decisions.” Vincent was silent for a long time. Did anyone else know? No, I made sure of it. Vincent stared at him. The betrayal wasn’t loud. It was clinical, precise, just another decision in a long line of decisions made by people who wore suits and thought in percentages.

“She died,” Vincent whispered, believing she was denied a chance. Carl’s expression didn’t change. “Because she was,” he replied. The next morning, Vincent called an emergency board meeting. The room was full executives legal counsel and two silent board members joining via video. Maya sat near the back hair clean dressed in borrowed business attire. She didn’t speak.

Vincent stood at the head of the table, his voice clear and unshaken as he laid out the facts. The unauthorized override of a clinical application, the concealment of a conflict of interest, the violation of ethical policy. He submitted MA’s statement.

He requested an official internal review and placed Carl on administrative leave effective immediately. Silence followed, then murmurss, protests, warnings. “Do you realize what this could cost us?” one board member said. “Our reputation, our partnerships, our stock will tank.” Vincent raised a hand. “This company was built to save lives. If we start choosing profits over people, then we’re already bankrupt.” He ended the meeting there.

That night, the media began to circle. Rumors leaked, whispers spread on business forums. Stock prices dipped, investors called. Vincent sat alone in his office, the Florida ceiling windows reflecting his silhouette. On his desk was a framed photo of Lena holding a baby Emily in her arms.

Her eyes sparkled in the picture, unaware of everything that would come. His wedding ring glinted under the dim light of his desk lamp. The door was closed, the phone silent. He allowed himself one quiet breath. His phone buzzed. It was Carl. He let it ring once, then answered. “You really did it,” Carl said. “You picked her over everything we built.” “No,” Vincent said softly.

“I picked the truth.” A pause. “She’s made you soft,” Carl accused. Vincent looked at the photo of Lena. “She reminded me who I was supposed to be,” he replied. Carl hung up. Vincent set the phone down and sat back, eyes still on Lena’s smile.

He wondered if she’d be proud if she’d understand if in choosing to do what was right, he had somehow kept his promise to her, too. But deep down, what unsettled him most wasn’t the fallout or the scandal. It was the quiet question he couldn’t yet answer. Was he honoring Lena’s memory or starting to let it go? The lakehouse sat on the edge of a forest, quiet and still, its wooden frame creaking softly in the breeze.

It had once been Lena’s favorite retreat, a place untouched by boardrooms, beeping machines, or hospital walls. Now it held a different kind of silence. Vincent brought Mia and Emily there after everything broke in the media. The press had begun circling like sharks. He told Maya it would be safer, easier.

It was also a way to say thank you nothing more not yet. Maya understood that. She kept to the guest room, helped with meals, and spent most of her time with Emily. She read to her, braided her hair, and picked daisies by the shore. Emily clung to her like morning dew clings to grass naturally and without question. Vincent watched it all from a distance.

He worked during the day, often on the porch with his laptop, trying to steer his company through the fallout. At night, he would drink one glass of bourbon and sit outside beneath the stars, staring into the water that reflected a sky too vast to hold. One night, after putting Emily to bed, Maya stepped out onto the porch. The wood groaned under her bare feet as she approached.

Vincent was there sitting on the steps, a half empty glass in hand, sleeves rolled up, his tie discarded. He didn’t look up when she sat beside him. The silence stretched for a while. I used to think this place was too quiet, Maya said, folding her hands in her lap. Now I get it. Vincent swirled the liquid in his glass. Lena used to say, “Silence tells the truth better than people do.

” Ma smiled faintly. She wasn’t wrong. They sat like that for a long moment. Two people tangled in different ends of the same memory. Mia turned toward him. “You don’t have to feel guilty, Vincent. If you don’t feel anything for me, that’s okay. I’m here for Emily, not for anything else. His fingers tightened around the glass.

I don’t know what I feel, he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Every time I look at you, I remember Lena. Not because you’re like her, you’re not, but because she trusted you. She loved you in her way. And part of me feels like being near you is betraying her. Maya’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes dropped to her lap.

She nodded slowly and stood. I get it, she said softly. It’s okay. She turned to go. Maya. He reached out and caught her hand. She stopped. I used to believe I was done. He said that there wouldn’t be anything after her. That I’d buried every last part of me that could feel something again. But then you showed up and you didn’t ask me to forget her. You didn’t try to take her place.

You just reminded me what it felt like to want to keep breathing. Maya stood there, his hand still gently holding hers. He didn’t pull her closer. She didn’t move. A long, heavy pause. Then slowly she withdrew her hand. “I believe you,” she said, “but I’m not sure you believe it yet.” She walked back inside. Vincent sat alone on the steps. He stared into the dark water, the ripples catching starlight like secrets.

He looked down at his hand. The wedding ring was still there, cool against his skin. He hadn’t taken it off, not once. He turned it slowly around his finger, then stopped. For the first time, he wondered not just how to grieve Lena, but how to let her go without letting go of himself. The note was folded in half, placed neatly on the edge of the kitchen table.

Vincent found it the next morning beside the empty teacup Mia had used every day since arriving at the lakehouse. He opened it with a strange stillness in his hands. Vincent, the note read, “You don’t need to explain, and you don’t owe me anything. I know you’re not ready, but I can’t stay where I’m only a shadow of something you’re afraid to feel. You don’t need to love me. Truly, you don’t.

But I can’t live in a house where my heart waits quietly in a corner for something that might never come. Tell Emily I love her. Maya. He read the letter three times, then set it down. His chest felt hollow and heavy all at once. He walked into Emily’s room. She was sitting on the floor building a tower with blocks, her pink pajamas wrinkled from sleep.

“Daddy,” she said without looking up. Where’s Miss Maya? Vincent knelt beside her. She had to go somewhere, he explained softly. Emily paused, picking up a block. Will she come back? Vincent hesitated. I don’t know, he admitted. Emily looked at him, her brow furrowed in that way she had when she was thinking very hard. “Daddy,” she said slowly.

“Can I ask something?” “Of course,” she tilted her head. If I still love mommy, but I also love Miss Maya, is that bad? Vincent blinked, his throat tightening. No, he said, his voice rough. No, sweetheart, that’s not bad. She told me once, Emily said, stacking another block, that hearts don’t only have one room.

She said there’s space for a lot of good people if you don’t lock the door. Vincent sat back on his heels. The sunlight poured gently through the window, touching the framed photo of Lena on the dresser. Her smile caught mid laughter was frozen in time. Later that morning, he opened a drawer in his study and pulled out a small glass keepsake box until now it had been empty. He slipped off his wedding ring, holding it for a long moment in his palm.

Then he placed it gently inside next to a folded drawing Emily had once made, Mommy in Heaven with Stars Around Her. He closed the lid. That afternoon, he drove into the city. The church wasn’t fancy, a modest brick building tucked between old apartment blocks and a chainlink fence. Inside, folding tables were set up where volunteers served warm soup and bread.

He saw her immediately. Maya stood behind a large pot ladelling food into chipped bowls. Her hair was tied back and her sleeves were rolled to her elbows. She looked tired, but calm, peaceful, in a way that was almost painful to witness. He waited until her line cleared before walking up.

She noticed him before he said a word. “You found me,” she said quietly. “I didn’t lose you,” Vincent replied. Maya wiped her hands on a towel, watching him. He stepped closer. “I didn’t come here to ask for anything,” he said. “Not forgiveness, not promises.” “Then why?” she asked. He took a breath. because I realized something. I’m not ready to love you the way you deserve. Not yet.

But I know I don’t want a life where you’re not in it. I’m not here to replace Lena. I’m here to build something new with you. Maya’s eyes softened, filled with something tender, something trembling just beneath the surface. I don’t need to be a replacement, she whispered. You couldn’t be, he said. You’re not Lena. You’re Maya. and that’s exactly who I came for.

At that moment, a familiar voice rang out. Miss Maya. Emily came running through the church doors, arms outstretched. She threw herself around Maya’s legs, laughing. I missed you. Mia bent down, hugging her tightly. Then Emily looked up at her. “Seriously?” she asked her voice earnest. “Mommy told me I’d know an angel when I saw one. I know now.

It’s you.” Mia’s eyes filled with tears. She held Emily close, one hand, gently brushing back her curls. Vincent stepped forward and rested his hand lightly on Maya’s back. Not as a claim, but as a promise. And in that quiet, sundrrenched church hall, there was no need for more words.

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