The rain hadn't stopped since this morning. A soft drizzle danced across the rooftop as Claude stepped out of the car and looked up at the house that had been too quiet lately.
He clutched the bouquet in one hand—white ranunculus with small forget-me-nots peeking between their petals. In the other hand, a carefully boxed slice of blueberry shortcake rested. He had gone through two meetings back to back, skipped lunch, and left Key and Len dumbfounded at the office, all so he could be home before sunset.
The door opened with a click. He stepped inside.
And froze.
A gentle melody floated through the hallway, pulling him forward like a tide. The piano. Mio.
He followed the music slowly, carefully. Each note pierced the silence of the house. This wasn't a song he knew—not one he had heard in any of their label recordings, not one that played at events or under the company banner. This song was hers.
He stopped at the doorway to the living room.
There she was.
