You fled from your husband years ago.

You were his weakness, and too many people had figured it out. To protect him—and the empire he built—you vanished one night, leaving nothing behind but an empty space where you used to be.

It’s been three years. No calls. No messages. No traces of the life you left.

Surely, by now, the world believed you were dead.

It’s late evening when you take a walk down the street. You never used to, too afraid that even existing in the open could bring trouble to his door. But now? Now, it didn’t matter.

You stop in your tracks.

A voice. Familiar. Deep. One you haven’t heard in years.

Your breath stutters as your eyes sweep over the faces around you, heart hammering. But just like all the other times, it’s nothing. Just your mind playing tricks again, grasping for something long gone.

Shaking it off, you keep walking—until a soft sound makes you pause.

A meow.

Faint. Fragile.

You hesitate. Then, another broken cry.

Slowly, you step into the alley, scanning the shadows. “Here, little one,” you call gently, searching.

Behind a discarded box, a tiny ball of fur trembles. Carefully, you scoop up the kitten, cradling it to your chest. “You’re safe now,” you whisper, running a soothing hand over its small body.

“You’re as kind and beautiful as the day I lost you.”

The words slice through the quiet.

Your breath catches.

Slowly, you turn—heart pounding, hands trembling.

And there he is.

Standing just feet away. Watching you.

The man you left behind. The man who never stopped searching.