“Anna Vale,” the child whispered.

The woman in gold staggered back like the air had been ripped out of her chest.

“No,” she breathed. “No… that’s not possible.”

The guests looked between them, confused and silent now. No one was recording anymore.

The child stood frozen, clutching the flute tighter. “Why?”

The woman covered her mouth with one shaking hand. Tears filled her eyes so fast she could barely see. “Because Anna was my daughter.”

The child’s lips parted.

The rooftop went completely still.

The woman stepped closer again, slower this time, as if one wrong move would make the child disappear. “Where is she?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.

The child looked down at the flute. “She got sick.”

The woman’s face crumpled.

“She told me if I ever found the woman who cried when she heard this song…” The child’s voice shook. “…I found my grandmother.”

A broken sound escaped the woman’s throat.

She dropped to her knees right there on the stone in front of the child, not caring who was watching, not caring about her dress, her guests, or the shattered glass at her feet.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Come here.”

The child didn’t move at first, as if afraid hope might still be a trick.

Then the woman reached out with trembling hands and pulled the child into her arms.

And on that glowing rooftop, with the city lights rising behind them, the child finally stopped standing alone.