There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," Isabella said, her voice faint, almost trembling.
Ruth stepped into the room quietly, her slippers brushing against the marble floor. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a look that carried both worry and curiosity. She had seen Ava rush out earlier. Something in the air had told her this was no ordinary night.
"Bella," Ruth began carefully, "was that Ava?"
For a moment, Isabella didn't answer. Her lips parted, but the words got caught somewhere in her chest. Then slowly, she turned around, her eyes still red from holding back tears—but her smile, that small, trembling smile, was pure relief.
"I found her, Ruth," she whispered. "I finally found her. I knew she wasn't dead"
Ruth's face softened instantly. The gentle lines on her cheeks deepened as she smiled back, her eyes glistening. She had waited years to see this look again—the one Isabella used to have before everything went dark inside her.
"Oh, my darling girl," Ruth said, walking closer and cupping Isabella's face gently, "you've been searching for so long. I'm so happy for you."
Isabella nodded, her throat tight. "You don't know what it feels like. I thought I'd lost her forever."
Ruth chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Isabella's face. "I think I have a little idea," she said. "I've watched you cry for her almost every night."
The warmth in her voice carried Isabella back in time.
She could still remember that first night she arrived in the States—the house her father had bought for her was big, too big, every corner echoing with silence. Boxes were still unopened. Curtains still smelled new. The air felt wrong.
She had stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by luggage and the faint hum of the refrigerator, and for the first time in her life, she didn't know where to go.
Ruth had been there too, her ever-patient presence moving quietly in the background, unpacking a few essentials, pretending not to notice the tears threatening to fall.
But when Isabella finally broke—when her chest started to heave and the sobs came rushing like a storm—Ruth dropped everything and crossed the room.
She held her tight, her hands warm against Isabella's shaking back.
"It's alright, my love," she whispered, rocking her gently. "You'll find your way again."
"But she's gone,this is forever Ruth" Isabella had cried into her shoulder. "She didn't even say goodbye."
Ruth closed her eyes. "If she's truly meant for you, you'll meet her again, I believe she's still out there. I never saw a body buried." she said softly. "Some loves don't fade, even when you want them to."
Those words had stayed with Isabella for years—through every lonely night, through every quiet morning where she stared at Ava's last text, through every dream that ended in the same heartbreak.
And now… now she had found her again.
The memory dissolved, like smoke fading into light. Ruth was still standing there, smiling as if she too had been pulled into the past.
"So," Ruth said, lowering herself into the armchair beside Isabella's bed, "tell me everything. Every single detail. Don't you dare leave a thing out."
Isabella laughed softly. "You really want to know?"
"Of course I do! You've been a ghost for years, child. Then suddenly, I see you smiling like this? You owe me the whole story."
And so, Isabella told her.
Her voice rose and fell, sometimes trembling, sometimes full of wonder. She talked with her hands, her eyes lighting up at every memory. Ruth didn't interrupt—she just watched, nodding, smiling, sometimes gasping softly as the story unfolded.
By the time Isabella finished, the night outside had deepened, the city lights glowing faintly through the curtains.
Ruth let out a long, low whistle. "My goodness," she said, shaking her head. "You've been through so much, haven't you?"
Isabella leaned back, the faintest smile still on her lips. "It's been… a lot."
Ruth pressed a hand to her chest. "And to think… all this time, she was right there, out in the world, missing you too. Life really is something, isn't it?"
"It is," Isabella said softly. Her eyes drifted to the phone lying beside her on the bed. The map still glowed faintly on the screen—a small blinking dot pulsing where Ava was.
Ruth followed her gaze, squinting. Then a slow grin spread across her face.
"Don't tell me," she said, her voice playful, "you're tracking her?"
Isabella's face went red immediately. "It's not like that—"
"Oh, please," Ruth teased, leaning forward with a laugh. "Don't try that with me, young lady. I changed your diapers. I know that look anywhere. You're absolutely tracking her."
Isabella laughed despite herself, hiding her face in her hands. "I just… I wanted to make sure she got home safe."
"Sure you did," Ruth said with a knowing nod. "And that little dot flashing on your screen just happens to help you breathe better, hm?"
"Ruth!" Isabella protested, but her cheeks were glowing now.
Ruth chuckled and patted her knee. "It's alright, sweetheart. When love runs that deep, you're allowed to be a little crazy."
They both laughed, the sound filling the room in a way it hadn't in years.
Then, as the laughter faded, Ruth's tone softened again. "She's your heart, isn't she?"
Isabella looked down at her hands. "She always has been."
Silence settled for a moment. The hum of the night surrounded them—the soft tick of the clock, the wind against the window.
Ruth stood and smoothed her skirt. "Then promise me one thing, Bella."
"What?"
"Don't lose her again," Ruth said gently. "If fate gave you another chance, hold onto it. Some people spend a lifetime searching for the kind of love you two have."
Isabella's throat tightened. She nodded slowly. "I won't."
Ruth smiled, her eyes kind. "Good girl." She turned toward the door, then paused and looked back. "And if you ever do track her again, at least use a prettier ringtone. That beeping thing makes me nervous."
Isabella burst into laughter again, and Ruth chuckled as she disappeared down the hall.
When the door closed, the room fell quiet once more. Isabella reached for her phone, watching the small dot blink softly on the screen. Her fingers brushed against the glass, her chest tightening again—but this time, it wasn't from pain. It was from hope.