“Really?” she asked, her voice lifting with hope.
“Really.”
Within minutes, she was pulling on her pink sweater, her earlier sadness melting into excitement. Michael grabbed his coat, and together they stepped out into the cool, rainy evening.
The café they chose was warm and softly lit, tucked between two quiet streets. Rain tapped steadily against the large windows, creating a gentle rhythm that filled the cozy space. Inside, the scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries wrapped around them like comfort.
They found a small table near the window.
Emma pressed her hands against the glass, watching the raindrops race each other down the pane, giggling softly. Michael sat across from her, his tiredness easing as he watched her slowly return to herself.
For a while, everything felt simple again.
Then, without warning, Emma leaned forward slightly and whispered:
“Dad… look… that’s mommy.”
Michael froze.
For a second, he didn’t breathe.
His heart began to pound, loud and heavy in his chest, as if something deep inside him had just been shaken awake. Slowly—almost unwillingly—he turned his head in the direction Emma was pointing.
And there she was.
Standing just a few steps away, holding a tray.