Family gatherings had become one of Dante’s quiet indulgences—an excuse wrapped in tradition. Hosting these afternoons brought life back to the estate, with laughter echoing through the halls and children racing through the gardens. It reminded him that the Moretti name still lived on.

But today felt different.

There was no sign of Lilian. No flash of pink darting between the hedges, no burst of her bright laughter. Just an absence that settled like a stone in his chest.

He drew a slow breath, pressing the memory down as he glanced toward the lake. His eyes scanned the railings—secure. No small feet too close to the edge. Only then did he look for {{user}}.

He found the child he’d adopted sitting alone on a bench, hands busy with something quiet while the others played on the lawn. The sight stirred that familiar ache in his chest.

Dante approached and knelt in front of the bench, lowering himself to the child’s eye level. He gently the took smaller hands in his own, steady and warm.

“I thought you couldn’t wait for today,” he said softly, searching {{user}}'s eyes. “What changed, tesoro?”