“Lena.”

The man closed his eyes like the name hit him in the chest.

When he opened them again, they were full of tears.

“Lena…” he repeated, barely breathing. “No. No, that’s not possible.”

The little girl looked frightened now. “Did I say something bad?”

He shook his head fast and cupped the back of his neck, trying to hold himself together. “No, sweetheart. No.”

He looked at the bracelet again, then at her face — the shape of her eyes, the tremble in her mouth, the way she tried to be brave even while freezing in the rain.

And suddenly he knew.

His knees almost gave out.

“That bracelet,” he said softly, staring at her wrist, “I bought it the day my daughter was born.”

The girl blinked. “My mom said it was from someone who loved us.”

He let out a broken breath.

“I loved her,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”

Her lips trembled. “Then why didn’t you come back?”

That question hurt more than anything.

He swallowed hard. “I tried. I looked for you both. But she was gone.” His eyes filled again. “I thought I lost you.”

The girl just stared at him through the rain.

Then, very quietly, she asked, “Are you my dad?”

He looked at her like the whole city had disappeared.

“Yes,” he said, voice shaking. “I’m your dad.”

For one second, she didn’t move.

Then her bouquet slipped from her hands and hit the wet pavement, and she threw herself into him.

He caught her instantly, pulling her into his chest under the umbrella, crying into her wet hair while she held onto his coat with tiny shaking hands.

“She’s really sick,” she whispered against him. “Mom’s really sick.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her face. “Take me to her.”

The girl nodded through tears, and still holding his hand, she led him through the rain.