Her voice cracked as she spoke, her lips a tight line. Lashes fluttered, and a single tear plunged into the stew, the surface rippling like a disturbed pond. Despite her best efforts to hold it together, tears spilled down her cheeks, unstoppable.

Dante's eyes burned. He ached to pull her close, to spill his regrets, to rewind time and slap some sense into his younger self.

But what’s done is done. The fallout and the hurt he’d dished out were permanent.

She flinched from his touch. As he reached for her, she pulled back, tears still streaming.

All he could do was offer a wad of tissues, his voice thick with remorse and agony.

"Celine, I'm sorry… really… I'm so sorry… I messed up…"

He had no defense, no magic words to erase the pain.

All he could offer was a constant stream of apologies for the ignorance, arrogance, and sheer dumbassery of his past.

That young, idiotic Dante had no clue that the person he was hurting, aside from his family, was the one who loved him most and treated him the best in the world. He hadn't realized she'd become the love of his life.

But the universe doesn't hand out magic pills for regret or functioning time machines. What happened, happened. If he could spend the rest of his life making it up to her, shrinking the shadow of that pain in both their lives until it was a mere speck, until it barely grazed her, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

"Celine, please don't cry… You can punch me, scream at me, anything. But it's your birthday. Let's not do tears anymore, okay?"

He soothed the woman before him, her eyes swimming and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, until she finally settled. He replaced her stew, warmed the food, and gently nudged her to eat.

After her cry, Celine seemed to have exhaled, the tension draining from her. She ate quietly, her conversation with him light.

"Grandpa made this himself. He's retired now. Besides the occasional visit to the firm, he’s been at home doing woodworking with Mr. Wilson. He made this especially for you."

He handed her the wooden box. She opened it, carefully lifting out the small rocking horse. He showed her how to wind the key.

It was a delicate music box. The horse's stubby legs stood on two curved wooden bars, like a roly-poly toy. Its small head had two adorable, perked-up ears. Perched on top was a tiny, plump bird with a round belly and head, a small pointed beak, and a long, upturned tail.

The horse’s limbs and head were petite, but its belly was ample. A spindle beneath its belly connected to the music mechanism. Once wound, the horse began a gentle rock, and the melody of "Für Elise" filled the air.

Celine's eyes widened in delight. It was utterly charming, and Dante's grandfather had crafted it himself.

"I love it. Please thank Grandpa for me."

The old man had always been a sweetheart to her. Even during her time with the Williams family, when he was strict, he had always looked out for her.

"And there's more." Dante produced three more boxes.

He opened his own gift first. It was an exquisite bracelet, a simple silver chain strung with a single, luminous emerald-green bead wrapped in silver filigree.

He smiled. "Wear it if you like. If not, just keep it at home. This dinner is the real gift; this is just an accessory."

Then he opened the final two boxes. One held a delicate necklace—a thin platinum chain with a small five-pointed star pendant. Each point of the star was set with a tiny diamond, sparkling with a subtle yet brilliant light. Though it was a style from many years ago, the care in its selection was obvious; it was a classic design that would never go out of style.

The other box held a document. Celine took it out, confused, but the moment she opened it, her vision blurred with fresh tears, and she was struck speechless with surprise.

It was a charitable trust fund, established in her name. The document stated that upon her reaching adulthood, it would be unconditionally transferred to her, managed by a board of trustees. It had been signed and established over a decade ago, with an initial fund of fifty thousand dollars. It had now been operating for eleven years.

There was also a letter, written to Celine by Dante's father.

"To my dear Celine,

I hope this letter finds you well.

Today is the 19th. In two days, it will be your birthday. Your aunt and I have been thinking lately about what would be a suitable gift for you.

Ever since we first heard about your circumstances, we've been considering whether to sponsor you. In fact, your aunt's idea was to adopt you as our daughter.

She has always wanted a girl, but after giving birth to your brother Dante, her health wasn't the best, and a daughter wasn't in the cards. So, she's longed for a daughter without ever having one. When she heard I planned to sponsor you, she immediately wanted to adopt you.

However, as we haven't met you yet, we don't know if you would like to become our daughter. We worry you might not be comfortable with us. So, after much thought, we decided to sponsor you first. In a couple of days, when your teacher brings you to meet us, we can spend some time together and see how it goes. We will consider your feelings and discuss this matter further then.

Celine, I hope we will get along wonderfully.

Here is the birthday gift from your aunt and me, also a gift for our first meeting.

We each chose something we thought you would like. Your aunt will give you her gift in person. As my work keeps me quite busy, I may not be free on the day, so I'm explaining my gift in this letter.

This gift is a trust fund. You might not know what that is, and that's perfectly alright. You can think of it as a sum of money. But it's not for you right away. I've put it in a special place for you. When you grow up and go to college, you can use this money for your tuition and living expenses.

Looking forward to meeting you, lovely girl.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Williams!"

"This… this is…"