“Because I look like him.”
Jane studied the girl’s face more closely. The dark hair, the deep brown eyes, the specific bridge of the nose. It was familiar. At that moment, the heavy office door opened, and Mike Sterling himself stepped out.
The thirty-three-year-old CEO looked every bit the part: charcoal suit, perfectly groomed, and the cool, detached expression of a man who valued efficiency above all else.
“Jane, where are the project files?” he started, then stopped mid-sentence when he saw the child.
For a few seconds, they just stared at each other. Mike stood rooted to the spot, studying the small face, while Daisy tilted her head back and met his gaze without blinking.
“Hello, Mr. Sterling,” she said. “I’m Daisy Miller. I have a letter for you from my mom.”
Mike didn’t answer immediately. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. Jane noticed her boss had gone pale.
“Mr. Sterling?” Jane asked cautiously.
“Yes,” he snapped back to reality. “Jane, cancel my next meeting. And the one after that.”
“But the investors—”
“Reschedule them for tomorrow.”
He looked back at Daisy.
“Come in.”
The girl followed him into a spacious corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Mike gestured for her to sit in one of the leather armchairs while he remained standing, clearly trying to steady his nerves.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Seven and a half.”
“And your mother’s name is Hope Miller?”
“Yes. Her name used to be Hope Parker before she moved.”
Mike sat down in his chair as if his legs had finally given out. Hope Parker. A name he hadn’t spoken aloud in eight years. The woman who had once been the center of his world.
“Your mother… how is she?” he asked, keeping his voice level.
“Not good,” Daisy said honestly. “She has cancer. The doctor says the chemo isn’t working anymore. She’s very weak, but she said she had to write this to you while she still could.”
The girl handed him the envelope. On the front, in shaky handwriting, it said: *“For Mike. Personal.”*
“Do you know what’s in here?” Mike asked, hesitating to break the seal.
“No. Mom said it was just for you. But she was crying when she wrote it.”
Mike took the envelope with hands that weren’t quite steady. Eight years ago, he had sworn he would never have anything to do with Hope again. She had broken his heart, or so he thought, and he had spent the years since building walls—becoming a calculated, successful man who let no one get close.
But now, looking at this little girl with his own eyes, those walls were beginning to crack.
“Daisy,” he said carefully, “did your mom tell you about me?”
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