Back at the café, the noise of the outside world seemed to fade into nothing more than a distant hum.
Cups clinked, soft music played somewhere in the background, and people laughed at nearby tables—but none of it reached Roseline.
Her entire world had narrowed down to the photograph in her trembling hands.
The image was old, slightly faded at the edges. A man stood at the center of it, tall and sharply dressed, his arm draped casually around a younger woman who smiled too brightly for comfort. And in her arms—a baby. Small. Wrapped in a soft blanket.
The faces were familiar. Too familiar for her to ignore.
Roseline's chest tightened.
The dread came back all at once, violent and suffocating, as if it had only been waiting for the right moment to resurface. Her fingers curled around the photo, crumpling the corner before she realized what she was doing. Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven.
No. Not again.
