The silence stretched.
Seraphina Laurent stood still, her composure a thin veil over barely restrained emotion. Her eyes shimmered beneath the soft morning light, and Aira could see the effort it took for her to keep them steady — as if blinking would break the moment.
Behind her, Professor Elara said nothing. She knew better than to interfere now.
Aira's fingers twitched at her sides. She felt oddly detached from her own body, like she was watching the scene unfold from a distance.
She studied Seraphina carefully.
Same high cheekbones. Same shape of lips. Even the curve of the jaw looked familiar — as if she'd seen them reflected in a mirror her whole life and never realized they weren't hers alone.
But it wasn't just features.
It was the quiet intensity in Seraphina's posture. The way she held herself — not timid, but gentle. Strong, but careful. Like a woman who had carried heartbreak for years without letting it bend her.
"I didn't come to take anything from you," Seraphina said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I needed to see you. To know that you're real. That you're safe. You don't have to say anything. I'll go after this."
Aira's throat felt tight.
She hadn't expected this.
She thought she would feel nothing — that she would assess the situation with the cold logic she applied to every part of her life. That this woman would be a stranger, like any other.
But something was cracking in her chest. Something silent and slow.
"You waited eighteen years," Aira said, her voice low.
Seraphina's eyes widened slightly.
"You never adopted," Aira continued. "Never stopped searching."
"No," Seraphina whispered. "Not for a single day."
"Why?"
Seraphina looked at her, almost stunned by the question.
"Because you were mine," she said simply. "Because I knew, somehow, you were still out there. I didn't care how much money we had or how many people said to give up. I couldn't. I…" Her voice caught. "I gave birth to you. I held you in my arms. And then you were gone. I don't know how to live in a world that lets a mother forget that."
The words settled over them like snow — soft, quiet, but heavy.
Aira didn't know what to do with them.
A part of her — the part trained for survival — wanted to close the door, retreat to silence, and pretend none of this had happened. But another part… a much smaller, more dangerous part… wanted to step forward.
Wanted to reach for the mother who had never stopped waiting.
"You're not ready," Seraphina said gently, seeing the war in her eyes. "It's okay. I didn't come to rush you. I just… wanted to see you once, with my own eyes. I've dreamed of your face for eighteen years. I didn't want to risk waiting another day."
Aira's lips parted, but no words came.
Seraphina smiled faintly — the kind of smile that trembled at the edges.
Then she stepped back.
"I'll go now."
She turned slowly, her steps graceful despite the pain she clearly carried in every breath.
But just as she reached the porch steps, Aira spoke.
"You can stay," she said quietly. "For tea."
Seraphina stopped mid-step.
The hope that flickered in her eyes nearly knocked the breath from Aira's lungs.
And for the first time since her grandmother died, the house didn't feel quite so hollow.