Ava's POV
It was one of those golden, sparkling afternoons. The kind where the sun hit the marble floors just right, and the chandeliers looked like they were dancing. I was curled up beside Dada at the long dining table, our plates filled with way-too-fancy food neither of us really touched. I'd spent the past ten minutes yapping non-stop, of course.
"And then Ms. Keating told me I wrote the best essay in the class again," I said proudly, swinging my legs under the chair. "But I think she only said that because I put a sparkly sticker on the last page. You know, the pink one with glitter—"
"You've said 'sparkly sticker' six times," Dada interrupted, but his voice was soft and amused, his eyes on his tablet.
"Well, it was sparkly!" I insisted, giggling.
He didn't laugh out loud, but the corner of his mouth twitched. That was victory. I leaned into his arm dramatically, bumping his shoulder with my head like a cat. "Also, I made Reo promise not to punch anyone today. And I think Jin accidentally smiled at me. I almost cried."
"He probably had a stroke," Dada muttered.
I laughed again, mouth full of rice. "Dada, that's rude!"
He didn't look up. "So is bribing my men with cupcakes."
"They like me more than you anyway."
Before he could reply with some witty comeback, my phone vibrated on the table.
Unknown number.
I blinked. That was weird. I wasn't allowed to get unknown numbers. Dada had like a tech army ensuring that. But curiosity poked me in the ribs, and I picked it up anyway.
"Hello?"
Static. Then—
"My baby missed mama?"
My heart stopped.
No. No no no.
"I've missed you so much, baby girl. Come meet me at Blue O'Clock Café. Tomorrow at five. I'll be waiting, sweetheart."
Click.
The line went dead.
I didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered against the plate, the sound sharp and sudden in the quiet.
Dada looked up immediately. "Ava?"
I blinked fast. My fingers trembled. I stared at the phone like it had turned into a snake. "It's fine," I said, too fast, too high-pitched. "It was—it was nothing."
He was already on his feet. "Ava."
"I'm okay!" I said brightly, too brightly. I gave him a smile that didn't reach my eyes, like the ones I practiced in the mirror when I missed him and didn't want to bother him. "Just some spam call. I'll block it. Can I have ice cream now?"
But my voice cracked on the word ice cream.
He reached out, brushing my long hair back gently, thumb grazing my cheek. "You're pale."
"I'm fine," I lied, eyes stinging.
I wasn't. Not even a little. Because I knew that voice.
I hadn't heard it since I was one month old.
Not in real life.
But in dreams.
In nightmares.
And in every whispered conversation I wasn't supposed to overhear.
Vivienne.
My mother.
The woman who left.