The clock had passed midnight.
Mia was still sitting at the edge of her bed. The lights were off, and only the moonlight sneaking through the window slats cast faint silhouettes on the wall.
Her mind kept replaying the moment earlier—Pak Biromo's gaze, the weight in his voice, and the sentence left hanging: "If you truly are her daughter…"
She held the wallet again, slowly opened it, and looked at the photo of her mother. Her mother's smile in that picture felt so warm… and yet, it seemed to hide secrets Mia had never imagined.
"Ana Shen… You are Ana Shen's daughter?"
The words echoed in her ears.
How did that man know her mother's name?
And why did his eyes look so... wounded?
Slowly, Mia stood up, walked to the window, and pulled back the thin curtain. The front yard lay silent. The black car was gone. No more heavy footsteps carrying invisible burdens. Only the stillness of night and a bleak sky remained, leaving behind one overwhelming sensation: uncertainty.
She leaned against the window.
Her heart wanted to believe this was just coincidence. But her instincts told her otherwise. Too many things didn't add up. Too deep was the way Pak Biromo looked at her tonight.
Not like a boss looking at his intern. But as if he had seen a ghost from the past.
"If he really knew Mama…" Mia whispered to herself, "why did he never show up until now?"
Questions crept in like the cold air slipping between her ribs.
And for the first time, Mia felt that the life she thought was peaceful… was actually built on fragile ground.
In the distance, a dog barked. Then silence returned.
Mia closed her eyes, took a long breath, and murmured a quiet prayer in her heart.
Not for a good night's sleep.
But for the strength to begin her search for answers in the morning.
Because the night had said all it could.
---
The black car moved slowly along the quiet streets, winding through an upscale neighborhood beneath the gray sky. Inside the cabin, a reading light glowed dimly. Pak Biromo leaned back, one hand supporting his chin, eyes blankly staring out the window.
His driver, Irfan, glanced occasionally through the rearview mirror—quietly worried. In ten years of service, he had never seen his employer this silent.
"Sir… straight home, or to the office first?" he asked gently, cautiously.
Pak Biromo didn't respond right away. His breath was heavy.
"To the villa," he said at last. "The one on the hill."
Irfan nodded and changed direction. They ascended the winding road toward a small hillside, where a hidden old villa owned by the Biromo family stood among pine trees and stone.
Not long after, the car stopped. Biromo stepped out alone. The cold air cut through his long coat, but he didn't seem to notice. His steps toward the villa's porch were unsteady, as if he were carrying a burden too heavy for his frame.
Once inside, he didn't turn on the lights. He simply stood in the center of the old living room, staring at the walls lined with classical paintings and aged photo frames.
His hand moved slowly to a shelf, pulling out a small silver frame. Inside—Ana Shen's photo from her youth.
He looked at it for a long time. Too long.
"One of the worst decisions in my life… was letting you go," he murmured.
His voice nearly cracked, as if holding back tears that hadn't fallen in years.
"I thought I could forget you. But the truth is... you never left. You're in every decision. Every silence."
He slowly sat on an old wooden chair, gazing at the small fire he lit in the fireplace. The flames cast dancing shadows on his face—the face of a man who looked strong on the outside, but fractured within.
"And now… that girl," he whispered. "Is she really your blood, Ana?"
His head bowed low. For a while, the villa was filled only with the sound of burning wood.
Then he rose and walked to the desk in the corner. From the deepest drawer, he pulled out an old sealed envelope.
On its front, in faded handwriting, was a single name: MIA.
His fingers gripped the envelope tightly, then gently placed it back—still not ready.
"Not yet," he whispered. "Not… yet."
And the night swallowed him once more, in a silence that offered no room for sleep.