The world went silent. The photographers froze. Michael looked down and saw her eyes — the same warm brown eyes as Elena’s.
An older woman hurried after the child, her expression filled with shock and sorrow. It was Elena’s mother. “Mia, sweetheart, come here,” she said gently, trying to pull her back.
The little girl looked up at him. “I knew you would come,” she whispered.
Michael could barely breathe. For the first time in years, his heart felt alive — and shattered at the same time.
That night, he sat alone in his penthouse, staring at the city lights. He could still feel her small hands clutching his leg. He picked up the phone and called Owen. “Cancel everything tomorrow,” he said quietly. “I’m going back there.”
The next morning, he returned to the orphanage. Elena’s mother was folding laundry when he arrived. She looked at him with disbelief and anger.
“You do not have the right to be here,” she said.
“I know,” he answered. “But I saw her. I can’t pretend anymore.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Elena waited for you until the day she died. She believed you would come back.”
Michael’s chest tightened. Every deal, every dollar, every success suddenly felt worthless.