The silence inside the room did not feel empty. It felt alive, pressing against Aruna’s chest, tightening with every second that passed after Marco’s words. Her mother… alive. The sentence refused to settle inside her mind, as if her thoughts rejected it before it could become real. For years, she had built her life around that loss. Every decision, every sacrifice, every moment of pain had been anchored to the belief that her mother was gone. That she had died on that cold operating table, leaving Aruna alone in a world that never cared whether she survived or not. And now, in a single breath, everything was being rewritten.“That’s not possible,” Aruna said, but even to her own ears, the words sounded weak. Fragile. As if she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.Dante didn’t respond immediately. He was watching Marco, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable. When Dante stayed silent, it was never because he didn’t have something to
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