---- Chapter 13 Katarina POV: | took the train from the airport into the heart of Paris. The first-class carriage was quiet, except for a small child in the seat across from me who was wailing inconsolably. The sound grated on my nerves, a shrill reminder of the children | would never have, the life | was supposed to want. Then, a man sitting a few rows ahead stood up. He was tall, with kind eyes and a warm, easy smile. He knelt by the crying child and pulled a small, silver harmonica from his jacket pocket. He began to play a simple, sweet melody. The child's cries softened, then stopped completely, his eyes wide with wonder. The man caught my gaze and gave me a small, apologetic smile. | felt a warmth spread through my chest, a feeling so unfamiliar it took me a moment to place it. It was peace. At the Gare du Nord, | was struggling to wrestle my oversized suitcase off the train when a familiar voice said, "Allow me." It was him. The man with the harmonica. He lifted my bag with ease. "That looks heavier than a broken heart," he said, his eyes twinkling. ---- | laughed. A real, genuine laugh. "It feels like it." "I'm Julian Moreau," he said, offering his hand. "Kat Jensen," | replied, taking it. My new name felt strange on my tongue, but also right. We walked out of the station together, and | told him | was moving into a small apartment in Le Marais. His eyebrows shot up. "You're joking," he said. "| live in Le Marais. On Rue des Rosiers." "That's my street," | said, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Well, in that case, you have to come hear my band play sometime," he said, handing me a small card with the name of a jazz club on it. "As a welcome to the neighborhood." He helped me get a taxi, and as he closed the door, he gave me a simple wave. No pressure, no possessiveness. Just a kind, open gesture. | arrived at my new apartment. It was small, with high ceilings and a tiny balcony overlooking the cobblestone street. It was empty, a blank canvas. It was all mine. As | stood in the middle of the empty room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, | didn't feel the ghosts of ---- my old life. | didn't feel the weight of the De Luca name. | felt hope. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!