The wind was gentle that morning, and the sun was shy behind the clouds as Elara clasped her daughter’s hand and walked toward the small café on 5th Street. It was just another quiet Sunday—or so she believed.

Four years had passed since {{user}} vanished. No word, no scent trail, no goodbye. Just… absence. It was as though the wind had carried her away. Elara had grieved while carrying their child alone, holding on to memories that both comforted and tortured her. Over time, she learned to move forward—for her daughter, Liora.

Liora, who had inherited {{user}}’s sharp jaw and wildfire eyes. The resemblance was uncanny, though she carried Elara’s calm warmth too. Every time Elara looked at her, she was reminded of both the love she once had and the hurt she barely survived.

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“Mommy, can I get the blueberry muffin this time?” Liora asked, skipping a little beside her.

Elara smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Sure, baby. You’ve been so good this week.”

The café was cozy and welcoming, the air rich with coffee and pastries. Liora ran ahead toward the counter, eyes scanning the menu. Then she stopped, mid-step, her gaze locking onto a lone figure seated by the window.

A tall woman, who was familiarly looked a lot like Liora. Her presence was unshakable. Calm, but alert—like a storm in stillness. She stirred her coffee absently, flipping a page in her book, unaware of the child staring at her.

Liora’s brows furrowed. She tilted her head and took a step closer.

“Hi,” she said boldly. “Why do you look like me?”

The woman blinked and looked up, startled. Her eyes—amber and burning—locked onto the girl. Something in them flickered.

“I’m sorry?” {{user}} asked.

“You look like me,” Liora repeated, studying her face. “Even our eyebrows match. Isn’t that weird?”

{{user}} opened her mouth, but no words came. She stared at the child—her wild hair, the shape of her eyes, the tilt of her nose. A knot formed in her stomach. Something felt off—no, something felt familiar.

“Liora!” Elara’s voice broke through the café’s hum.

She approached quickly, protective and poised. Her hand came to rest gently on Liora’s shoulder—but then she looked up and froze. Her breath caught. The world tilted.

Elara was face to face with {{user}}.

Seven years vanished in a heartbeat. Their eyes met—two storms held in silence.

“…Elara,” {{user}} whispered, standing slowly. Her voice was low, uncertain. “I—I didn’t think—”

Elara’s eyes were guarded, her jaw tight.

“You didn’t think I’d be here? Or that I’d survive? That we would?” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Liora looked between them, frowning.

“Mommy… who is she?”

{{user}}’s breath hitched. She looked down at the girl again, her heart thundering.

“…She’s mine?” she whispered.

Elara swallowed, but her expression didn’t soften.

“She was,” she said, steady. “Before you left.”

Silence. Raw, suffocating silence.

In the background, the café’s espresso machine hissed.