Lina lived to be ninety.
She spent her final years surrounded by family—children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. She told them stories, shared memories, made sure they knew who Kai was and what they'd built together.
On her last day, she asked for music.
Noah played—his father's compositions, passed down through generations. Hope read aloud—passages from Lina's books, from her own, from the story of a love that time couldn't erase.
Lina closed her eyes, listening.
She saw Kai, waiting for her. Young again, hand outstretched, smiling.
"I've been waiting," he said.
"I know." She took his hand. "I'm ready now."