You fix the bow in your daughter’s hair, Lola as you stand on the porch, your hands trembling despite the sharp November chill. Three years of raising her alone. Three years of showing up at your best friend Sarah’s house every Thanksgiving, convincing yourself you were fine… that you’d moved on.

The door swings open.

Not Sarah.

Caelum.

Your breath catches. His name feels foreign on your tongue now, like a memory you tried too hard to bury. His hair is shorter, his frame broader, but those piercing dark eyes — the ones that once made you feel safe — haven’t changed.

“{{user}}?” His voice is quiet, tentative, almost afraid to be real.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes.

Then his gaze drops — to the little girl clutching your hand, her tiny fingers wrapped around her camera toy, her curious eyes wide and unblinking as they meet his.

And just like that, his world tilts.

Her smile. Those eyes. A mirror he never expected to see.

“Who…” His voice falters, rough and uncertain. “Who is she?”

Your throat tightens. Words swirl in your head, but none will form.

Inside, laughter floats from the dining room, plates clinking and Sarah’s voice calling your name. But here, in the doorway, it’s just you and Caelum — his confusion sharp, his stare full of questions you’ve spent three years avoiding.

And in that fragile, breathless moment, you know everything is about to change.