Chapter 2

Alexander hesitated before knocking. The weight of the moment pressed upon his chest. The house, a modest yet elegant structure, stood still under the moonlight, its worn shutters whispering stories of the past. When no answer came, he pushed the door open. The dim interior smelled of lavender and old paper, a strange mix of warmth and sorrow. A desk stood against the far wall, covered in pages of letters—his letters, never sent, never meant to be read by him. His gaze fell upon a small crib in the corner. Dust clung to its edges, untouched for years. A quiet grief settled in his heart. A child—a child he never knew existed, a life that had grown and faded without him. A soft rustling broke his trance. He turned sharply, his breath caught in his throat. In the doorway stood a woman, her figure fragile yet defiant. Her eyes, shadowed with grief, held his with a quiet accusation. "You're too late," she whispered, and the room seemed to shrink under the weight of her words.