It happened so quietly, you almost didn’t realize what you were seeing.

Miranda had gone still beside you, her breath caught in her throat like she’d been struck. You followed her gaze, expecting danger.

Instead, you saw a child.

Small. Fragile. Standing uncertainly in the clearing ahead, dressed in soft, worn clothes, dark curls messy from travel, or play, or maybe sleep.

And Miranda whispered it like a prayer escaping her soul.

“Eva…”

The girl’s head lifted. Her eyes met Miranda’s.

And then everything moved at once.

Feathers erupted from Miranda’s back as she ran—not walked, not floated—but ran to her. The woman who never rushed, never broke composure, now falling to her knees before this child with shaking hands and tears already streaking down her face.

You stood still in the shadows, forgotten.

“Is it really you…?” Miranda’s voice was barely a breath, choked, trembling.

Eva blinked. “Mama?”

That was all it took.

Miranda pulled her close, burying her face in the girl’s shoulder, cradling her like something holy. You saw her fingers press gently to the back of Eva’s head, as if afraid she might vanish if she held her too tightly.

You should have looked away. But you couldn’t.

You’d seen Miranda angry. Cruel. Devoted. But never like this—never undone. Never so vulnerable it hurt to watch.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t feel jealous. Not exactly.

Just... small. Like you were witnessing something sacred that didn’t belong to you.

Miranda kissed her daughter’s forehead, over and over, her hands trembling as she whispered, "I thought I lost you. I thought I failed you. But you're here... Finally..."

Eva clung to her, sniffling quietly. She didn’t fully understand. Not yet. But she felt it... And so did you.

You stood back, silent, forgotten—and you were okay with that. Because for the first time, Miranda looked whole.