OLIVIA

After Hannah and I got on the bus home, my mind was still echoing with the shock of running into Noah.

I had never imagined we would meet again. Noah and I had always lived in completely different worlds. He was born into privilege-the only son of a board member of the Morgan Group-while I was just an ordinary woman raising a child on a paycheck.

After graduation, he stayed on the East Coast and entered Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons, pursuing a dual MD–PhD degree-one of the most prestigious medical institutions in New York. Later, he spent a year as a visiting researcher at the Cardiac Research Institute of the University of Basel in Switzerland, becoming one of the youngest rising experts in the field of cardiothoracic surgery.

And me?

I had spent all these years struggling on the edge of survival. Moving from New Hampshire to New York was nothing more than a desperate attempt to secure better medical care for my daughter.

So many years had passed. What were the odds that we would cross paths again?

Almost zero.

"Mom."

My daughter's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I wrapped my arms tightly around her, trying to ease the heavy pressure in my chest.

As I looked at her face, I noticed again how much she resembled Noah-especially her eyebrows and those gray eyes, the exact same shade as her father's.

"Mom, is Dr. Morgan my dad?"

Her sudden question stunned me. I fell silent for a moment, thinking about how to answer.

I gazed into her clear eyes and smiled, gently stroking her cheek. Then I noticed how thin she had become-smaller than most children her age.

"What makes you think he's your dad?" I asked softly.

Hannah pulled a photo out of her bag and showed me a picture of Noah and me from our college days.

"I wanted to ask Dr. Morgan earlier," she said, pointing at the photo. "Because he looks like my dad."

The hopeful look in her eyes made my heart miss a beat. I knew exactly what she wanted-to hear me confirm that the doctor we had just met was the father she had always longed for.

I didn't want to hurt her, but I couldn't tell her the truth either. Remembering how Noah had hurt me in the past, I couldn't bear the thought of my daughter being hurt by him as well.

"He's not your dad," I said carefully. "I've told you before-your father works overseas."

"But the nurse said Dr. Morgan just came back from abroad and started working at Manhattan Hospital," she countered.

I swallowed hard. My daughter was smart-too smart. I smiled and ruffled her hair. "Dr. Morgan isn't your dad. If he were, he would have recognized you. He just happens to look like your father."

"Oh," she said quietly.

The disappointment on her face was unmistakable.

I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can't tell you the truth. I don't want you to know that your father didn't want you.

He once despised me-out of shame and wounded pride, like a dull knife carving into flesh. And if he knew you existed, he would despise you too.

But I promise you this: I will love you with everything I have. I will do my best to fill the place he left empty, so you'll never feel the absence of a father's warmth.

We got off the bus and walked through the increasingly autumn-chilled streets of Brooklyn until we reached our building. We lived in Dyker Heights-a relatively quiet neighborhood not far from the subway, less expensive than Manhattan and safer than Bushwick.

I rang the doorbell of the apartment next door to check on Margareth.

Margareth Brown was our landlord. She was eccentric and well-known in the neighborhood for it. The duplex we rented belonged to her-a cozy one-bedroom unit. Margareth lived right next door.

After a moment, Margareth opened the door and let us in. I handed her the maintenance medication I'd picked up at the pharmacy near the hospital for Hannah's upcoming follow-up.

"How did the checkup go?" Margareth asked as she poured us drinks.

We sat in the dining area while Hannah played happily in the living room. After school, Hannah usually stayed at Margareth's place, so when I worked late, she kept some of her things there.

I smiled timidly. "Just like Dr. Smith said. Hannah needs surgery as soon as possible. We can't delay anymore, or it could affect her long-term health."

Margareth handed me her bank card. "I've got some savings. A decent amount. I believe it'll cover all of Hannah's medical expenses."

I shook my head and pushed the card back toward her. "I can't take it, Margareth. You've already helped us so much. Just taking care of Hannah while I'm at work is more than enough."

I needed money to support my daughter-but I couldn't accept hers. Margareth wasn't young anymore. That money should be her emergency fund, in case something happened to her. If I took it and something went wrong-and we couldn't help her because the money had gone to Hannah-I would never forgive myself.

"I'm not giving it to you. I'm lending it," she insisted, pressing the card into my hand. "You can pay me back monthly. Think about Hannah-she needs this money right now."

"You know I treat you like family," she added. "You're my daughter-in-law, and Hannah is my granddaughter."

I smiled.

After all, I had once been her daughter-in-law-briefly.

Liam Brown was Margareth's son. I met him when I first joined my company. He was one of my clients, and after working on a project together, we became friends. The apartment I lived in now was provided by him.

At the time, his father was critically ill. Liam turned down a position as marketing director at the company's UK branch because he wanted to stay by his father's side.

His father's only dying wish was to see his son married.

Back then, my finances were in dire straits. My salary wasn't enough to cover Hannah's medical bills and childcare, yet I had to work-and Hannah was only two years old.

Liam made me an offer: marry him to fulfill his father's wish, and in return, he would give me fifty thousand dollars. We agreed to divorce after his father passed away.

I accepted.

Like him, I was willing to do anything for family. And fifty thousand dollars was no small sum when it came to paying for Hannah's treatment.

We got married quietly-only family knew. We kept it as secret as possible, not wanting anyone else to find out.

Margareth was furious when she learned the truth, but there was nothing she could do. She knew her son was only trying to be filial, so she stayed silent.

A month later, Liam's father passed away. After the funeral, we divorced. A few months later, Liam flew to the UK. The position he had once turned down was offered to him again. With his father gone, there was no reason to refuse, and Margareth encouraged him to take it. It was a perfect opportunity for his career.

A year later, Margareth fell ill. Hannah and I took care of her. From then on, our bond grew even closer. She offered to look after Hannah while I worked, saving me the cost of hiring a nanny-money that could instead go toward Hannah's medical bills.

"No, Margareth," I said firmly. "Don't worry about us. I've got a big deal about to close. Once I land it, I'll earn a substantial commission. I can handle this."

On Monday morning, I went to work.

Walking through the bustling SOMA district, I felt more determined than ever to secure the major client by Friday. I worked as an account manager at Brightwave Media. I had originally wanted to become a copywriter-my strengths leaned more toward creativity-but I ultimately applied for sales because each signed client meant commission. And that money was critical for paying Hannah's medical expenses.

As I reached my desk, one of the copywriters, Jessica, approached me.

"Olivia, Isabel's assistant said her boss wants to see you in her office," she said.

I nodded, grabbed my laptop, and assumed Isabel wanted me to review the final proposal we were submitting to the major client on Friday.

As expected, our creative director, Isabel, questioned me about the campaign proposal for Mere & Line's Everyday Luxury collection. I walked her through the concept and each phase of the campaign.

She reviewed the materials several times, then sighed.

"Olivia, is this really the best your team can do?" she asked.

I almost raised an eyebrow. I forced a polite smile. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"This launch has to scream luxury," Isabel said. "We're talking high-end fashion. The campaign has to be eye-catching-because the word 'luxury' itself should stand out. Like me."

She smiled proudly, gesturing to the brand-logo outfit she was wearing.

I took a slow breath, reminding myself not to offend her. She was the boss's daughter.

"I understand your point, Isabel," I said calmly. "But that's not the brand's philosophy."

"The 'everyday luxury' our client wants to promote is minimalism and understated elegance-quiet luxury," I explained, hoping she would understand.

Her smile never faltered. "I get what you're saying, Olivia. But luxury has to be aspirational. If it's too subtle, people get bored. It won't grab attention. We need bolder visuals, higher contrast."

I stared at her for a moment, thinking about how to explain that her definition of luxury differed from the client's. I needed her to understand the brand's core message. I needed to please the client-not her.

"What if we submit two proposals?" I suggested. "One as it is, and one revised according to your ideas."

It was the only way I could ensure the deal went through.

She paused, then nodded slowly. "Fine. We'll submit both. I'm confident the client will agree with me."

I forced another smile. "Of course."

After the tense meeting with Isabel, I immediately gathered my team and relayed everything we'd discussed.

"What the hell?!" Jessica exclaimed once I finished.

Ella shook her head. "She thinks she's above everyone just because she's creative director. Everyone knows she got that position because of her dad."

"Thank God Matthew is actually competent," Sophia muttered. "Otherwise, this company would've gone under."

Matthew Caldwell was our CEO and the owner's son. As Sophia said, Matthew was a capable heir-good news for all of us.

Thanks to Isabel, we suddenly had extra work, and I got home late that night. My daughter was already asleep in her room.

I had just finished showering when my phone chimed.

It was a message from Grace.

"I ran into William at a cocktail event in the Lower East Side a while back. He asked about you."

Grace's job took her to all kinds of social events. She worked in brand PR at a boutique event-planning firm, specializing in launches and private dinners for real estate developers and luxury brands. A muscle-brained trust-fund kid like William Anderson was naturally one of her regular fixtures.

I stared at her next message.

"He said he hasn't been able to reach you and wants to invite you to the class reunion this Saturday."

I frowned.

William caring about me? Impossible. We barely spoke during all four years of college. Even when the thing between Noah and me blew up, it barely caused a ripple in his social circle.

I replied: "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I didn't know where you were."

"Oh-and there's a ridiculous rumor that you're dead."

I typed back with a dry laugh:

"Then let them think I'm dead."

In their world, Emma Cooper had never mattered. Unless someone wanted to make a joke out of her, no one remembered she existed. From the moment I decided to change my name, I had buried Emma Cooper and drawn a clear line between my past life and this one.

Grace was the only exception.

She had never treated me like a joke. We met in the high school literature club. Even back then, she had a way with words-always knowing how to calm someone on the brink of emotional collapse. We were each other's unspoken secrets. Even now, she remained one of the very few people who made me feel safe.

"Are you sure?" she texted. "I heard Noah's going to be there. William even said he doubts Noah would recognize you."

I could practically hear her tone-light, faintly sarcastic.

Of course he wouldn't recognize me. I didn't want him to.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before I replied:

"I'm not going."

I put the phone away and buried my face in the pillow, letting that one sentence-'I doubt he'd recognize you'-roll endlessly through my mind.

Not because I cared whether he recognized me.

But because I knew that even if he did, he would do exactly what he had done seven years ago-deny that I had ever been worth acknowledging at all.

OLIVIA

It was almost midnight, and I still couldn't sleep. My conversation with Grace kept replaying in my head like a jammed old tape recorder.

I slipped out of bed quietly and picked up the old phone as I walked into the living room. Even though I'd changed my number long ago, this battered flip phone still mattered to me-it was the only way my grandmother insisted on contacting me. She lived in a nursing home on the outskirts of Georgia. Whenever she couldn't reach my new number, she stubbornly left repeated voicemails on this old one.

I turned on the phone and opened the nearly abandoned WhatsApp account.

112 unread messages.

All of them were from a group chat called "EHS 10-Year Reunion"-the alumni group for Eagle Heights School, my private high school in San Francisco.

The first thing I did was turn off read receipts.

Let them keep thinking I was dead.

I scrolled to the pinned message from the group admin, William Anderson. Just as Grace had said, he'd posted the full details of the reunion scheduled for this Saturday night, to be held at a seaside villa in Sausalito.

Emma, if you're going through any difficulties in life, you can always tell us. We'd be happy to help.

I snorted, not even bothering to lift my eyelids.

William Anderson. Third generation of the Anderson family. His father was one of California's earliest private senior-housing developers, and William himself was now the nominal director of the Anderson Trust Foundation-and a notorious playboy in social circles.

Him offering to "help" me?

Only if he'd lost a round of truth-or-dare while drunk.

I gripped the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. I'd heard plenty of hollow words over the years, but this one deserved a trophy. These people had never truly seen me-let alone reached out when I was at my lowest. They didn't want to see me. They just wanted to see what kind of joke the "fat nerd" had turned into.

I didn't reply to a single message.

Just as I'd always believed-Emma Cooper had been "dead" for a long time.

I kept scrolling through the chat. As expected, no one mentioned me. Nearly every conversation revolved around one person.

Noah Morgan.

Someone said he'd returned after completing a combined MD/PhD at Columbia University and was now working at St. Gabriel Medical Center on Manhattan's Upper East Side-one of the youngest cardiothoracic consultants there. Someone else commented that he'd "been winning at life since his all-boys-school days." Another person posted a recent photo of him, muscles clearly visible beneath his white coat.

The comments flooded in:

"Is it even fair that our asshole heartthrob turned into a doctor and got even hotter?"

I stared at the photo for a long time, my heartbeat slowing as if it had skipped a beat.

Friday finally arrived.

It was the day our team had been counting down to. We were all gathered in the conference room, and the client had arrived as well.

Because this was a major account, Matthew Caldwell was also present. As the CEO of Brightwave Media and the chairman's eldest son, Matthew carried enormous influence in San Francisco's advertising and media circles. A Wharton graduate, he'd returned to the Bay Area to take over the company, implementing data-driven strategies and segmented luxury branding-earning widespread industry praise.

I had already spoken to him about his sister's interference. He'd shaken his head and apologized on her behalf.

Isabel Caldwell was his half-sister and the company's creative director. Her mother had been the former editor-in-chief of Elegance, a well-known fashion magazine. Isabel inherited her mother's taste and ambition-but not her practical ability. Her position came largely from nepotism. She grew up in Los Angeles and only moved to San Francisco to live with their father after Matthew graduated high school.

We presented our original proposal first. The client was clearly pleased. I felt a rush of relief-I knew the deal was very likely to close.

Then we presented Isabel's alternative proposal.

The client's feedback was exactly what I'd told Isabel it would be.

Our team struggled not to smile-especially when we saw Isabel's reaction. She tried to defend her idea, but Matthew shut her down. In family matters, he never hid his authority. He indulged her verbally, but never spared her incompetence.

We closed the deal successfully. The client chose our original proposal.

The team was ecstatic.

Isabel was not.

"Congratulations, everyone. Excellent work, as always," Matthew said with a smile, his tone lightly teasing. "I know you all put a lot into this project-especially Isabel, with the additional proposal."

It was his way of saving face for his sister.

We exchanged knowing looks and thanked him.

"This calls for a celebration!" Matthew announced enthusiastically. "Let's head to Battery Park tomorrow night!"

Battery Park was a waterfront leisure area in southern downtown San Francisco, near the financial district and startup hubs. Employees from advertising, creative, and finance firms often gathered there on weekends to celebrate or unwind. Brightwave's office was in SOMA-less than a twenty-minute walk away.

I hadn't planned on going.

I needed to take care of Hannah.

But work socializing was practically encoded in Manhattan DNA. I needed this job-and I needed the commission. So I decided I'd go.

Just not for long.

Something about the park's location nagged at me-it felt oddly familiar. But I quickly pushed the unease aside.

All I could see was the incoming commission and Hannah's surgery.

Noah

I'd just finished surgery and arrived near Battery Park later than planned.

Mostly because Manhattan traffic is a goddamn nightmare.

I shouldn't have come.

But the thought of seeing Emma made me go anyway.

The moment I stepped into the private room, William walked straight over and punched my chest lightly, grinning like an asshole.

"Hey, guys-" he scanned the room and raised his voice. "New York's sexiest doctor is here! Who was asking to see his abs? Now's your chance."

Laughter exploded around the room. A few old classmates even clapped. Someone whistled.

I frowned and scanned the room.

She wasn't there.

No Emma.

I forced myself to stay composed and turned to William. "I can't drink. I might get a call from the hospital at any moment."

He shrugged, about to respond, when a tall woman stepped closer. Perfume washed over me.

Charlotte.

"Noah," she said with a smile, lightly touching my chest. "Do you have a girlfriend now?"

"Yeah, Noah," she added boldly. "We haven't seen you in years... but we're all curious. Do you have a girlfriend?"

She'd been sitting with William's group, practically leaning against him. I only vaguely remembered her from high school. She'd always been popular, always surrounded by admirers.

Just not me.

I glanced at her, my tone cool. "I've been busy with my MD and PhD abroad. No time for dating. Even now, my schedule's packed-I barely have time for family, let alone a relationship."

Charlotte didn't seem bothered by my indifference. She shifted closer, her fingers brushing my shirt as she spoke.

"I heard you're a heart specialist. Does that mean you're really good at taking care of hearts?"

As she spoke, her hand settled boldly on my chest.

Instinctively, I raised my hand and pushed hers away.

The group burst into laughter. They all knew exactly what she was doing.

Charlotte shot me an angry look and moved aside.

William swooped in at just the right moment, handing me a glass. "I know you don't drink anymore, so I ordered you fresh orange juice."

He was right. Since becoming a doctor, I'd stopped drinking altogether.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

After that, although I could still feel curious glances drifting my way, no one tried to get too close.

I sipped my drink, my eyes constantly flicking toward the door.

Every time it opened, my heart jumped.

Every time, I was disappointed.

I wanted to see her again.

Seven years had passed, and I still couldn't forget her. I knew she'd liked me-especially after that night together. I'd felt it in every touch, every kiss. Her emotions had been woven into every moment.

So how could she erase me from her life so easily?

A loud voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Megan, what happened to you? You got fat!" someone joked cruelly.

I looked up immediately.

"That's normal after having a baby, you idiot!" Megan snapped back.

Laughter erupted. Glasses clinked. Music swallowed the moment.

"Speaking of weight gain," William said casually, "has anyone heard from Emma Cooper? I've messaged her a few times-no response. I even asked Grace, but she hasn't heard anything either."

At the sound of her name, my entire body went rigid.

I forced my expression neutral, fighting to keep my reaction hidden.

"Haven't you heard the rumor about Emma?" someone asked.

"What rumor?" William leaned forward, intrigued.

"Emma... is dead."

The words hung heavily in the air.

The room fell silent.

I nearly dropped my glass.

My heart clenched violently.

That couldn't be true. It couldn't.

I wanted to shout-but I didn't. I swallowed the storm threatening to consume me.

"Is that really true?" Charlotte asked in disbelief. "Is that why she cut off contact? Why she never came to any reunions?"

"It makes sense," William said thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why Grace couldn't tell me anything. But how did she die? Does anyone know?"

"I heard someone from our class saw her in a hospital," Athena said.

"That was me," Evelyn spoke up, raising her hand.

Everyone turned to her.

Evelyn sighed, her voice tinged with sadness. "It was six years ago. I took my grandmother to the hospital-she was very sick. I saw Emma there. She'd lost a lot of weight, but her stomach was swollen... like a tumor."

"That's terrible," someone murmured.

"Noah," William said, looking straight at me, "since you're a doctor, maybe you can explain that tumor. Was it terminal? I remember her family wasn't well-off. Maybe they couldn't afford treatment, and that's why she didn't make it."

All eyes turned to me.

Waiting.

My heart felt like it had been shot.

I couldn't speak.

I turned abruptly and stormed out of the room.

And then-

A woman crashed into my chest.

I instinctively caught her by the waist, pulling her close.

That familiar scent hit me.

My eyes widened-

OLIVIA

I looked at the man in front of me. He wasn't wearing a white coat this time, just a simple black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. My body was pressed close to his, and I could clearly feel the definition of his muscles beneath the fabric.

Up close, he was even more handsome-especially those deep blue eyes and his firm, square jaw. His hot breath brushed against my skin like fire, and I felt a sharp, unmistakable ache between my legs.

I swallowed.

Then suddenly, my phone rang.

The sound jolted me back to my senses. I immediately pushed him away.

"Mr. Morgan... thank you," I said softly.

"Ms. Evans? You're here?" Noah said in a low voice. Then something seemed to click in his mind, and he added quickly, "Are you here for the high school reunion?"

His tone sounded almost as if he wanted me to say yes.

My heart sank. Cold sweat seeped out across my back. I bit my lower lip as anxiety surged through me.

Did he recognize me?

No wonder this place had felt so familiar-this was where our high school reunions were usually held.

"A reunion?" I asked, forcing myself to sound clueless, though my voice trembled slightly.

"Yes, our high school reunion. Aren't you here for that?" he pressed again.

I shook my head quickly. "No. I'm here for a company celebration," I replied coldly.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, doubt still lacing his voice.

I felt irritation flare instantly-like just because I was a single mother, because I was struggling financially, I somehow didn't even have the right to come out for a drink.

I'd lived in that kind of environment for too long. I was used to being judged. It made me react faster, sharper.

"Mr. Morgan," my voice tightened as I deliberately lifted my chin, "if you're trying to confirm whether I came to the wrong place, or whether you think I shouldn't be here at all, rest assured-I'm not here to network, and I don't need your permission."

"I understand. There's no need to be tense, ma'am," he said, confused. "I was just asking. Why are you so upset?"

I bit my lip again.

Was I overreacting? Had he noticed something?

"If I offended you, I apologize," his tone softened. "You just look... a bit familiar."

"Mr. Morgan, we met three days ago," I snapped.

Noah's jaw loosened slightly, and he nodded. "That's not what I meant. Don't take it the wrong way. How is Hannah doing?"

I replied to Jessica's message, paused for a moment, then typed back, Yes, Dr. Morgan. Thank you for your concern. I will make sure Hannah's medical expenses are covered.

"That's good," Noah said, visibly relieved. Then he added, "If you need help, maybe I could-"

Damn it.

I was sick of that condescending, charitable tone of his. Why was he suddenly so invested in his patient?

"Dr. Morgan," I said coldly, "don't you think you're crossing the boundaries of a doctor–patient relationship? Are you this attentive with all your patients?"

"What?" Noah said angrily. "No. Ms. Evans, are you always this sharp? It's like I've done something to wrong you. I was just making conversation-"

That was enough to set me off. He had hurt me before-like a complete asshole.

I cut him off. "Dr. Morgan, you don't need to worry. And I don't need it. I have colleagues waiting for me. Have a pleasant evening."

I walked away quickly.

For both Noah and me, the best choice was to remain strangers-to pass by each other without memory or longing.

In my hand, I was still holding a button that had fallen off his clothes when he caught me earlier. I'd meant to throw it away-but instead, I slipped it into my bag.

Whatever. It didn't take up much space.

I headed toward the private room where my team was waiting. Everyone gathered around quickly. We chatted and sang. I drank some juice, then told Matthew I was heading out.

He nodded in understanding.

Later that night, after showering, I lay in bed, staring at the cufflink I'd picked up earlier.

I traced it lightly with my fingers.

"His taste hasn't changed," I murmured to myself.

I remembered-he had always worn clothes from this brand. Memories of secretly watching him came rushing back.

My phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Hi, Grandma," I answered softly.

"Olivia, why did you send me money again?" my grandmother complained, though I could hear the worry beneath her words. "I stay at home all day. I have nowhere to spend it."

I smiled. I knew she wasn't asking for money because of Hannah-she knew I needed it.

"Then save it for me, Grandma," I said calmly.

I'd planned to take Hannah back home before the school term started, but work had been overwhelming, and I hadn't found the time. Maybe after Hannah's surgery, once my finances stabilized, I could bring Grandma over for a few days-to spend time with Hannah.

We talked for a while, until her voice grew hesitant.

"Olivia... your uncle..." she said softly. "Even though he... he's still your uncle. He came by earlier and asked about you."

Her voice trailed off, as if she wanted to say more but ultimately didn't.

My uncle.

I shook my head. I didn't want Grandma worrying about any of that. I wouldn't tell her those things.

My parents divorced when I was two. My mother left and never came back-even after her father, my grandfather, passed away. My father was a gambler. When he won, he took me out to eat. When he lost, he disappeared and left me with my grandparents.

They raised me.

They were the only family I truly acknowledged.

"Yes, Grandma. I understand," I said gently.

We ended the call.

Even though we lived in the same city, I had never once considered contacting my uncle or aunt.

I took Hannah to the hospital for her weekly checkup and deliberately avoided Noah's clinic hours. I'd checked his schedule at the front desk-he only saw patients on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So I made sure to bring Hannah in on Mondays or Wednesdays.

I knew that even then, I might still run into him. He worked at the hospital, after all.

But I would do everything I could to avoid-or at least minimize-contact.

"Dr. Morgan," a nurse called out.

At the sound of his name, I nearly jumped out of my seat. My heart raced. As Noah walked past us toward his office, I gripped Hannah's hand tightly. We were waiting outside Exam Room 6-right next to his.

"Mom, your hand is sweaty," Hannah said, pulling her hand free.

I looked down at her. She was wiping her palm with a handkerchief.

I smiled at her.

Every time I saw Noah, I couldn't help feeling tense-even though I knew he wouldn't recognize me.

After Hannah's appointment, we went to the reception desk and returned Noah's cufflink.

That night, I went to check on Hannah. She was already asleep, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit.

She looked so much like Noah-from her eyebrows, to her eyes, to the shape of her nose.

After tucking her in, I returned to my room and sat at the vanity, studying my reflection in the mirror.

A slim, well-proportioned figure. Fair, luminous skin. Long wavy hair cascading over my shoulders. High cheekbones, a defined jawline, and light brown eyes framed by thick brows. Naturally full lips, softly pink.

No one would ever guess that I was the overweight girl from seven years ago.