SERAPHINE’S POV
She was standing right there.
So close.
My daughter.
My child.
For nineteen years, I had carried nothing but the memory of her—the weight of her absence pressed into my chest like an iron brand. I had pictured this moment a thousand times, dreamed of it on the rare nights when I allowed myself to believe she was still out there, still breathing, still alive.
But now that she was standing right in front of me, I couldn’t move.
My throat locked, a choked sound rising and dying before it could leave my lips.
She was so much more than I had imagined.
Her eyes—my Goddess, her eyes—were mine. That same deep shade of stormy gray, filled with unspoken questions and quiet strength. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in dark waves, the way mine used to before time and
