Ashley slammed the door of her tiny room shut, throwing her keys onto the side table with more force than necessary. The bag of half-eaten takeout dangled from her wrist, forgotten. She stood in Infront of the table, staring at the chipped paint on her wall, trying to steady the tide of emotions crashing over her.
Peter.
Six years.
Six years of silence and struggle, and then, just like that, there he was again—sharp suit, colder eyes, a world away from the man she had once known. He hadn't asked how she was, hadn't cared to know if her mother survived or if she even pushed through. He hadn't even said her name like that. No trace of warmth.
"I mean we only met twice but I thought we somehow related. Damnnn why am I even so pained? Is it because of how good he turned out? Whatever" she said under breath.
"Ashley, come out for dinner," her mom yelled from outside her room.
"Mom said dinner's ready aunt". Kara, her niece, said , knocking on her door.
Kara was the daughter to her younger sister Mary who had given birth out of wedlock. Her bf left her and travelled to another city when she was pregnant. So Ashley practically played the daddy role.
"Mr. Kavinsky," she muttered bitterly to herself as she kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the old couch in the living room. "As if I ever liked calling him Peter."
She ate dinner and headed back to her room. She climbed on her bed and curled into herself, pulling a blanket over her knees, and stared blankly at her phone. Her phone buzzed with a delivery app notification, but she ignored it. The memories had already started replaying.
She closed her eyes.
It was a bright morning . The skies hung heavy with clouds, the kind of grey that made everything feel slower, heavier. Ashley was halfway through her deliveries, her breath fogging in front of her as she zipped her hoodie up to her neck and balanced another bag of food on the back of her scooter.
She was just turning onto a lane when she spotted the girl.
At first, Ashley thought it was a lost child. But something in the way she sat on the sidewalk, knees to chest, head bowed, stopped her cold.
Ashley parked abruptly, her helmet still on as she rushed over. "Hey—hey, sweetie, are you okay?"
The little girl looked up, and Ashley's heart clenched.
Anna? Her face shocked
Peter's daughter? With even a more shocked face.
Ashley knelt beside her. Anna's hair was a mess, tangled and matted with something like porridge. Her clothes were stained and damp. But it was the red print across her cheek that made Ashley's breath catch.
A handprint.
"Oh my God. Who did this to you?" Ashley asked softly, her voice shaking. Anna didn't answer—of course she didn't. Six years and still silent. But her eyes… those big, haunted eyes said enough.
Ashley's hands trembled as she reached for her. "Come with me,you poor little thing. Awwwnnn." She said, giving her a warm embrace.
Anna didn't resist. She clung to Ashley's hand like a lifeline, and together, they walked down the block to her home.
Inside, Ashley guided her gently to the bathroom. "Let me clean you up, okay? No one's going to hurt you here. I promise."
Anna still said nothing, but she didn't pull away.
Ashley filled the tub and helped her out of the soiled clothes, heart breaking at every little bruise she saw. She washed Anna's hair gently, humming an old lullaby she hadn't sung in years. Anna closed her eyes, her small body trembling not from the water but from some deep, silent grief that had no words.
By the time she was dressed in one of Ashley's oversized t-shirts and curled up in a blanket on the couch, her eyelids were heavy.
Ashley sat beside her, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. "You don't have to talk, baby. I know what it feels like to be forgotten. To be hurt. But you're not alone now."
Tears slipped from Anna's eyes—silent, steady tears. She didn't make a sound. She just cried, clutching Ashley's sleeve tightly.
Ashley let her. She didn't try to stop the tears. She held her, her own eyes stinging. Her chest tightened with a guilt she didn't know she still carried.
Why didn't she try harder before?
Why didn't she come back sooner?
Hours passed. The sky outside grew darker, and Ashley paced the kitchen trying to figure out what to do. She had no number. No address. Only a memory of Peter's voice and the sting of rejection. But she couldn't just keep Anna here. Not without someone knowing. Not without Peter knowing.
"Who's this pretty little thing?" Anna's mamita said entering the living room. She was from the farm. Mamita was her maternal grandmother.
"Take a bath first mamita you stink" she said laughing out.
"Long story cut short. She's the daughter of someone I know. She's mute so I don't know what happened."
Eventually, Ashley remembered something—the delivery bag from two days ago. Inside was a receipt with Kavinsky Tower's number on it.
She grabbed her phone.
The call rang twice.
"Kavinsky Tower, reception. How may I direct your call?"
Ashley took a breath. "I—I need to speak with Peter Kavinsky. It's urgent. I have his daughter."
A pause. Then a nervous, "One moment, please."
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
Anna had fallen asleep again on the couch, her arms curled around Ashley's pillow.
The secretary told Peter about the call. He rushed home immediately searching for Anna and he couldn't find her. He called all the maids and gatekeepers to the living room, alongside Des and San.
" Where's Anna ? Where's Anna? How can you all be home and the little girl wanders away! He said, raising his voice as if looking to punch for it. And where's her so-called nanny?"
"She said she had something urgent to attend to at home." Thelma responded.
"So you left my daughter alone. Why do I even keep all of you in my house." He said as he turned to Des
" Are you even the oldest? Are you even my son? You let your nonchalant and carefree attitude get the better of you and you don't even care to check up on your sister. I don't even have the time for this." He said in a deep scary voice.
He immediately called the secretary again, and asked to be redirected to the call. He didn't believe the call at first because prank callers do that all the time. But this time the prank was about his youngest daughter. Not many people get to see her or even know her.
He called the number again:
Peter: Hello, I hear you have my daughter. Where are you?
Ashley: Took you long enough. It's Ashley. I'll send you an address.
He let out a huge sigh of relief as he hung up.
Few minutes later, he arrived at the address.
He looked nothing like the man on the rooftop.
His hair was windswept. His eyes wide with worry. He pushed past her before she could say anything, and then he saw Anna.
She stirred at the sound of the door, but she didn't cry. She didn't run. She just looked up.
Peter knelt beside the couch, brushing a hand over her cheek. "Oh, baby girl... what happened to you?"
Ashley stood frozen, her heart pounding.
Peter turned to her slowly.
And before he could speak—before she could explain everything—Anna reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Tears welled in his eyes as he clutched her to his chest.
Peter's jaw clenched.
Then, softly, "Thank you, Ashley."
Ashley looked down, unsure what to say.
Peter scooped Anna into his arms, but before he turned toward the door, he looked back.
And in that moment, standing in her doorway with his daughter in his arms, he wasn't a CEO.
He wasn't Mr. Kavinsky.
He was just a father.
A desperate, grieving father.
Ashley stepped forward slowly. "Anna, don't run away again, okay? If you must go somewhere, come here straight away okay?" Anna slightly nodded
. Peter saw for the first how his daughter responded positively to a stranger. And it was at that moment he knew he needed Ashley's help.