That night, the palace garden felt much quieter. Fitran had just closed the door to his study when he saw Joanna sitting alone under a large tree, her body curled up, shoulders trembling—as if she were bearing a weight too heavy to carry alone. The moonlight formed a soft circle around Joanna, framing her in a light that seemed fragile. The cold night breeze was refreshing, yet there was a dark feeling enveloping the atmosphere, as if the moon itself shared in Joanna's sorrow.

  Fitran approached slowly, his steps careful not to break the silence. He felt his own heartbeat, trembling as he witnessed his daughter in distress. He knew that not all wounds could be healed with words. But a father, even one who had just begun to realize his role today, had to try. Taking a deep breath, Fitran composed his thoughts, hoping to touch Joanna's heart.

  Fitran:

  “Joanna… may I sit here?”

  Joanna looked down, not answering immediately. Her breath was heavy, her eyes puffy, mixed with the moonlight that gently illuminated her face. She wiped away the remnants of tears with her palm, but it seemed she couldn't erase the traces of sorrow etched on her cheeks. Only the sound of insects and the night’s breath filled the silence between them, creating a symphony of tension and unspoken hope.

  Finally, Joanna spoke—her voice hoarse, almost a whisper, yet full of meaning. Each word that escaped her lips stirred Fitran, as if awakening the love buried deep within their souls.

  Joanna:

  “Dad, you know, I often wonder… why do all the people I love always leave? Sister Jeanne—she didn’t leave because she wanted to, but because she chose me over herself. She burned herself… so that I could live.”

  Fitran nodded slowly, his face creased as he struggled to keep his own voice steady. He felt the deep pain in Joanna's words, as if each sentence gently pierced his heart.

  Fitran:

  “I know a little. But… only from others' stories. Never from you. Do you want to tell me about Jeanne?”

  Joanna wiped her nose, holding back the tears that were about to spill again. She nodded slowly and began to speak, sometimes interrupted by small, stifled sobs. In her gaze, there was longing and a wound that had yet to heal; as she clutched her clothes, she seemed to wrestle with her thoughts, searching for the courage to open the dark chapters of her life.

  Joanna:

  “Sister Jeanne… she was my little hero. When I was imprisoned, I never knew she would do something so foolish. She disguised herself as me. She wore my chains and prison cloak, which now felt so heavy around my neck. When morning came and the execution was about to take place… she stood there, in my place. No one knew… until she herself lifted the hood, gazing at the whole world with eyes full of hope, and said: ‘Let me become ashes, as long as Joanna lives as a free human being.’”

  Joanna choked up, her voice hoarse, as if the entire world was encapsulated in her tears. She covered her face with her palms, her shoulders shaking like leaves caught in a strong wind. Perhaps that was why she felt despair, trapped in a painful loneliness.

  Joanna:

  “I can’t… I can’t even say goodbye, Dad. I woke up… Sister Jeanne had already become ashes.”

  Gently, Fitran shifted his position, extending his arms, and for the first time in his life, Joanna did not reject someone offering a hug. In silence, she rested her head on Fitran's chest, feeling the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat, like a soothing song. Fitran's hand slowly reached out to stroke her hair, touching her carefully, as awkwardly and sincerely as a father who feared losing that moment, as if time would pause just to give them a chance. He wanted to provide strength, but every movement felt like it was unearthing a deep pain.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Fitran:

  “Joanna… no words can erase your pain. I may never know all the wounds you carry, the fire that burns in your heart. But here, now, you don’t have to bear it all alone.”

  Joanna cried harder, finally letting all the tears she had held back flow freely. Her tears streamed down, as if each drop carried away the pain that had long been buried.

  Joanna:

  “When Mom (Sheena) used to say… if you want to cry, cry in your father's arms. But I didn’t even… I didn’t even know who my father was…”

  Joanna's voice broke. Tears, wails, and all the losses flowed without bounds. She bit her lip, trying to hold back her sobs, but the moans escaped her throat, making Fitran feel the depth of the pain she tried to hide. Joanna's once-bright face now wilted, her eyes filled with sorrow that weighed heavily on her soul. Fitran said nothing more. He simply held Joanna tighter, allowing her to pour out everything she had kept inside for so long. In that embrace, Fitran felt every tremor of Joanna's fear, as if time paused for a moment, and the world outside was muted by the sadness that piled up in their chests.

  Joanna (between sobs):

  “I want to cry… in my father's arms…”

  Her hands gripped Fitran's shirt tightly, as if afraid that the embrace would vanish too. Her fingers brushed against the soft fabric, while her heavy breaths seeped into Fitran's chest. He saw the pure longing in Joanna's face—a smile that had vanished, sweat on her temples, and the trembling voice of sorrow. In that moment, a bridge formed between them, affirming that love could exist even when separated by time and circumstance.

  Fitran held back his own tears, then with a gentle voice that only a father could muster, whispered,

  Fitran:

  “I’m here, Joanna. Always here. You don’t have to be strong all the time. In your father's arms, you can cry as hard as you want. For Sister Jeanne, for Mom, for all the wounds that have yet to heal…”

  Joanna cried as hard as she could in Fitran's embrace, without shame, without holding anything back. Her lips trembled as she imagined all the lost moments. Those tears finally became a prayer, an acknowledgment that a child who has lost still deserves a comforting embrace. Fitran felt Joanna's warmth in his arms, a confirmation that despite the uncertainty, love would always be a light in the darkness. Each of Joanna's sobs battered his helplessness, transforming into a new hope that blazed between them.

  After a long time, when her crying began to subside, Joanna took a deep breath, feeling cold like morning dew touching her skin. Her face was still puffy, with traces of tears flooding her cheeks, but in her eyes, there was a glimmer of new light—a spark of hope from a child who finally knew she was not alone. She lifted her head, gazing at Fitran with deep longing, as if seeking reassurance in her father's gaze.

  Joanna (softly, still holding on):

  “Sister Jeanne was a hero who chose to become ashes so I could live. But I also want to live as your daughter, Dad… if you allow me.”

  Fitran kissed the top of Joanna's head gently, feeling the softness of her hair dampened by tears. A warmth flowed from his touch, as if providing the protection he had long dreamed of. He lowered his head, allowing his chest to embrace his little daughter, soft and full of hope.

  Fitran:

  “You will always be my daughter. In any world, at any time.”

  And that night, their fragile world felt a little more whole, with the stars in the sky witnessing that moment, all because of one embrace that finally reached its destination. Accompanied by the gentle whisper of the wind, they felt each other's presence, erasing all the fear and loss that had once separated them.