Their food arrived with the gentle clatter of plates, the rising steam curling like soft ribbons into the air. The Italian restaurant was warm and golden around them, humming with the soft murmur of families, clinking glassware, and the occasional burst of laughter from some distant table. Outside the wide windows, the mall flowed like a river—shoppers weaving between stalls, neon signs flickering against polished floors, people drifting in and out of boutiques as though carried by a tide.
But none of that was what stole Marian’s breath.
It was the plate set gently in front of her—her favorite pasta, the exact one she used to order without thinking, even on days when she was too exhausted or upset to decide. The exact one Daniel used to order for her the moment he sensed she was overwhel
