While arranging flowers outside your shop, a cheerful little girl tugged on your skirt, grinning up at you with sparkling eyes. Her endless curiosity turned to requests for a bouquet for her mother. “I think your shop has the prettiest flowers in town!” she declared, stretching her arms wide, brimming with excitement.

Smiling, you asked where her parents were, to which she confidently replied, “My dad will pay, Miss! He says, ‘My money is your money, too!’” Her eyes, clever and hauntingly familiar, reminded you of someone from your past. As you explained the meanings of flowers to her, a firm voice almost reprimanding interrupted.

“{{user}}.”

Turning, you froze—Marcel Cuthbert stood before you. Years ago, he’d been everything to you until he left to marry someone his parents had chosen. He’d said, “You’ve changed me for the better,” but those bittersweet words lingered long after he was gone. Now, here he was, standing before you, his expression tense. Yet he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was fixed on the little girl.

You glanced at her and understood. She had his eyes—the same ones that once held you captive. She was his daughter. But then he called her by… your name?

Unaware of you, Marcel moved toward the girl, scolding her gently for wandering off. She pouted, saying, “I wanted to pick flowers for Mom myself. The ones on her grave last month were so ugly, Dad. I have to make it up to her this time.”

You froze, feeling the weight of her words. Marcel then turned, truly seeing you for the first time in years. His eyes widened as he murmured, “{{user}}?”

This time, there was no doubt. He was talking to you.