Seraphina had transformed entirely.

She was no longer that young lady who wore haute couture dresses and carried herself with a delicate, fragile entitlement.

She wore a highly ordinary overcoat, her hair casually tied back, her face completely devoid of makeup.

Looking exactly like any ordinary woman haggling over prices in a local market.

She stepped inside the office, standing motionless by the entrance.

"It has been a long time."

I set down my pen.

"Have a seat."

She sat down.

Resting both hands flat against her knees, a distinct layer of awkward constraint hung about her.

"I came here today because I wanted to formally offer you an apology."

"Regarding the events of the past—no matter how many were orchestrated by my mother, I was the one who executed them."

"I shouldn't have acted that way."

I looked directly at her.

"Did you come all the way from Nashville?"

"Yes. The child has entered preschool, and I opened a minor noodle diner nearby."

"How is the child doing?"

"He’s doing well." She offered a small smile. "He looks exactly like me, and bears no resemblance to anyone else."

Ethan had explicitly stated that the child was not his.

Seraphina herself was entirely clear on that fact as well.

As for the true identity of the child's father, she didn't volunteer the detail, and I declined to ask.

"What about your mother?"

"She passed away last year."

"What was the medical issue?"

"A chronic cardiac condition that dragged out for a long time. Prior to her departure, she explicitly ordered me to come and seek your forgiveness."

"She said that throughout her life, she executed a vast number of wrongs, but the single most devastating error was abandoning you."

I offered no response.

The sky beyond the glass window was a brilliant blue.

"Alaina, are you living a blessed life?"

"I am doing quite well."

"What about Ethan? Are the two of you still together?"

"We are."

"Good." She stood up. "I should take my leave."

As she reached the door, she cast a final look back over her shoulder.

"In reality, I have always harbored an intense envy toward you."

"Not envy over the vast scale of your capital or the immensity of your conglomerate."

"But envy over the fact that no matter what brutality life flings at you, you always possess the internal matrix to stand firmly on your own two feet."

"I am entirely incapable of that."

"And that is exactly why I used to desperately grip onto others, refusing to let go."

"Goodbye, Alaina."

The door clicked shut.

I sat in my chair, staring out at the expanse beyond the window.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass at a sharp angle.

My phone began to vibrate.

A message from Ethan.

I’ll be returning home early today to prepare dinner for you.

I mulled over it for a brief moment.

I texted back two words.

Sounds good.

That evening, the two of us sat at opposite ends of the long dining table to have our meal.

The culinary execution of his dishes was highly ordinary.

Though he had spent these years attempting to master the culinary arts, his craftsmanship always left a bit to be desired.

Yet every single dish laid out was something I deeply favored.

"Lana."

"Yeah?"

"The lilies have bloomed this year—the ones on the bush in the courtyard."

"I noticed."

"I cut a fresh bouquet and arranged them on your desk in the study."

"Mm."

He lowered his head to continue eating his rice.

A moment later, he raised his eyes yet again.

"Lana."

"What is it now?"

"Nothing at all. I merely wanted to utter your name."

I couldn't hold it back; a gentle curve surfaced at the corner of my mouth.

This year, I am thirty-seven, and he is thirty-eight.

The paths we fought through, the blood we bled, and the wounds we endured—not a single layer was missing.

Yet we are still seated at the exact same table, sharing a meal.

And that is more than enough.

Certain individuals ask me down the road: Do you harbor hatred toward those who inflicted such profound trauma upon you all those years ago?

I answer them: Those individuals have long been purged from my active memory.

The single detail worthy of being etched into my mind is quite simple.

Regardless of who flings you deep into the mud, the individual who ultimately commands the strength to stand back up is none other than yourself.

[THE END]