The restaurant seemed to fall silent. Gael’s heart pounded as he stared at her. Could it be possible?
“Amélia,” the young woman said. “Amélia Costa.”
The world tilted beneath him. He gripped the table for balance. Amélia. He heard the name echo in his mind like a voice rising from the grave.
“That’s impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “Amélia… my wife… she died twenty-three years ago. I was told she didn’t survive the crash.”
The young woman frowned. “My mother was in a car accident too,” she said slowly. “She was in a coma for weeks. But she survived. She never told me who my father was — only that he was a man she loved deeply, and that she lost him before I was born.”
Gael’s breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled as he stared at her face — the same gentle eyes, the same graceful manner, the same quiet strength he once adored.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “You’re her daughter.”
The Truth After Twenty-Three Years
Tears welled in the young woman’s eyes. “You… you’re my father?”
Gael could only nod, overcome with emotion. “I never knew,” he said brokenly. “They told me she was gone. I buried her name. I mourned for decades.”
Gael covered his face with his hands, his voice shaking. “No… no, I thought she was dead. I went to the funeral they told me was hers. I saw the car, the wreckage. I never questioned it. Oh, Amélia…”
The waitress reached across the table and took his trembling hand. “She’s alive,” she said. “She lives in Valencia. She still talks about you. She never married.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the quiet hum of the restaurant around them.
