Danna:
A year later:
A year had passed like a blur of pain stitched together with healing, and now Dante was whole again, stronger than ever, his scars fading into memories we didn't dare relive, and for the first time in forever, there was no blood on his hands, no shadows lurking behind him—only the soft glow of tomorrow that awaited us. We were on our way to China, because I missed my sister, and Dante insisted I shouldn't travel alone; this time it was not just him and I, but also my father and my mother—yes, my mother, not Lucia, not Edith Wilson, but simply my mother, the woman who had hidden behind names and faces, who had disappeared from my life only to return with truths that shattered me and mended me all at once.
She had told us everything—her reasons, her fears, the dangers she faced as my father's wife, the enemies she could never outrun, and how in desperation she had chosen the cruel disguise of plastic surgery, burying Edith Wilson to live forever as someone else, because the only thing she truly wanted was to stay by his side. And my father, after all the anger, after all the years of absence, had looked at her with the weight of a man who had already lost her once and whispered forgiveness, and I had followed, because no matter what she had done, she was my mother, and love always finds its way back, even if it takes years to crawl home.
"Don't starve yourself again, you heard what the doctor said?" Dante's voice snapped me from my thoughts, his amber eyes narrowing at me with that familiar sharpness that was half-command, half-concern, the way only he could speak to me.
"Yes…" I sighed, leaning my head back against the leather seat, because he had been repeating the same warning for days and he knew very well I had no appetite.
My mother, who was sitting beside me in the back seat, smiled gently, her hand slipping through my hair like she used to when I was a child. "It's not good for you, not just for you, but for your baby too," she reminded me, her voice soft but firm, a reminder that now it was not only my body I carried, but another fragile soul that belonged to both Dante and I.
"I know," I whispered, my throat tightening, "but sometimes… I just don't feel like eating."
"You still have to," my father's deep voice cut in from the front seat, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest in mock defiance, though my lips tugged upward despite myself. "Fine, whatever… I'll eat everything you give me."
Dante's hand reached for mine, warm and steady, squeezing it once as if to seal the promise, and when I turned to him, his gaze softened, no longer the cold, merciless man the world knew, but the husband who loved me, the father-to-be who worried endlessly, the man who, despite everything, had survived long enough to give me this—our future.
The airport had been crowded, yet all I could feel was the steady thrum of my heart as the plane touched down, each passing moment pulling me closer to the faces I had longed for. The flight itself had been smooth, Dante watching over me the entire time with that restless protectiveness of his, while my parents quietly shared smiles in the row behind us, but it was the drive that made my pulse race the most. China's streets stretched endlessly before us, familiar yet strange, and I found myself biting at my lip, nerves coiling inside me like restless serpents. I was excited, yes, but fear lingered too—fear of what they would think, fear of how they would see me now.
I wanted to see my gege, to see Xingqi, to see the woman who had not given me life but had given me love, my other mother, the one who had once been my shelter. My palms were damp as we approached the neighborhood, and by the time the car slowed in front of the house, my heart was pounding so hard I thought Dante could hear it.
It was nearly six in the evening when we arrived. Outside, China was wrapped in winter's white coat, snow falling in delicate flakes that landed on our shoulders and hair, the world glowing with red lanterns and golden banners as the Lunar New Year unfolded around us. Firecrackers popped in the distance, laughter floated through the streets, and for one fleeting second everything felt so impossibly perfect, as if the universe itself was welcoming me back.
I walked ahead, Dante close behind, and reached out with trembling fingers to press the doorbell. The sound echoed, and my breath caught as footsteps approached. Slowly, the door creaked open.
My eyes widened.
"Xingqi…" I whispered, my voice breaking before I could stop it.
She stood in the doorway, taller now, her features sharper, the little girl I remembered now blossoming into someone grown, yet her eyes—those wide, innocent eyes—were the same. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved, as though we couldn't believe this moment was real.
"Jiejie?" she said, her voice soft, disbelieving, and then, with a sudden rush of tears, she flung herself into my arms.
I caught her, holding her as tightly as I could, burying my face in her shoulder as sobs escaped me, the kind that shook through my entire body. "I missed you," I choked, pulling her closer as though I could make up for every lost year with this single embrace.
From inside, a familiar voice called, "Who is it, honey?"
And then she appeared—my other mother, her steps slow as she came into the hallway, her hair pinned back neatly, her eyes gentle as they had always been.
Her gaze fell on me, and the world seemed to still.
"Xingyi…" she whispered, the name like a prayer on her lips, and I felt something inside me shatter and heal all at once.
We were invited in—Mom, Dad, and Dante beside me. We sat together on the couch, the warmth of the home so different from the storm inside my chest. My other mom leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper, "Who are those people… and where were you all those years?"
I forced a gentle smile, though my throat ached. "He is my husband," I said softly, glancing at Dante, who sat straight, calm yet sharp-eyed like always. "And the story is long… I will tell you someday."
Her brows drew together, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Are they… your in-laws?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
I shook my head slowly, the truth trembling on my lips. "No… they are my real parents."
The words seemed to shatter the room. Her hand slipped from mine, her expression frozen as she repeated, "Real parents?" Her gaze shifted to the couple sitting elegantly on the opposite couch—my mother, Lucia, poised and graceful even in her silence, and my father, whose presence filled the space with both authority and warmth. They offered a polite smile, their eyes hiding years of longing.
"Then… why did they keep you in the orphanage?" she asked carefully, like she was afraid of the answer.
Before I could speak, my mom—my real mom—answered softly, her voice steady but tender. "Mrs. Zhao… we had many misunderstandings. We were forced apart by circumstances we couldn't control. But now… those misunderstandings have been cleared. And here we are, together again."
Mrs. Zhao nodded slowly, though I saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes. "Ah… right, misunderstandings," she murmured, her voice low.
Before the silence could deepen, I heard footsteps—familiar, steady, carrying the weight of a thousand memories. My heart skipped.
Gege.
He appeared in the doorway, his headphones still hanging loosely around his neck, music faintly spilling from them. His gaze landed on me, confusion sparking in his eyes before his brows shot upward in disbelief.
I stood, my lips trembling, my entire body weak with both fear and hope. "Ge…"
His headphones slipped from his ears, falling against his chest. "Sissy?" His voice cracked, as if the word hurt to say.
I nodded, tears already blurring my vision.
And then he ran to me, without hesitation, without a single thought of the years that had been stolen from us. His arms wrapped around me, so tight I could barely breathe, and I clung to him just as desperately, sobbing into his shoulder.
"Careful," Dante's voice warned from behind, protective as always, but Gege ignored him completely. His tears fell hot against my skin, his body trembling.
"Xinyi… it's you. It's really you." His words broke apart as he cried, his arms never loosening.
I buried my face into him, my voice shaking. "I'm here… I'm finally here."
He pulled back slightly, just enough to see my face, his palm pressing against the top of my head like he used to when we were kids. "Where were you all this time? Why didn't you come back?"
I touched his hand, trying to calm his trembling fingers. "I'll tell you everything, Ge… I promise."
His lips quivered as he nodded, patting my head gently, as if to reassure himself I was real. And in that moment, surrounded by the tangled strands of past and present, I knew: no matter how broken our story was, the pieces of me had finally found their way back home.