I followed Viola in silence. The rhythm of our footsteps echoed across the airport floor steady, orderly, just like always. But today, the cadence felt different to my ears.
Usually, this kind of atmosphere soothes me. Routine.
Control. A perfectly arranged schedule. But this morning, it all felt hollow.
We passed a long corridor toward the lounge. Reflected in the glass wall, I caught sight of myself, tailored suit, squared shoulders, a composed expression. A man who Looked like he knew exactly where he was going.
Ironically, my thoughts were far behind.
At home. At the small dining table with breadcrumbs scattered across it and a half-finished glass of milk.
Sienna’s voice is always calm, yet holding a strength that often made me forget just how resilient she was.


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