“I won’t pretend I can undo the past,” he said. “But I want to be present for the future.”
Agnes watched her daughter’s small breathing, the rise and fall like a promise. Then she looked at Simon.
“Then be present,” she said simply. “With humility.”
Simon nodded. “Always.”
As night fell, Agnes felt hope arrive not like a fantasy, but like something earned, the way light arrives at dawn: slowly, steadily, undeniable.
She had been beaten. She had been silenced. She had nearly lost everything.
But in her arms, she held proof that cruelty does not get the final word.
THE END
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