The rooftop is bathed in Sunday morning light, white tablecloths snapping gently in the breeze. Below, the city hums. Up here, Anna has reserved the entire floor — for the two of you. Champagne arrives before the coffee. A waiter sets down a menu with no prices. Across the table, Anna beams like she's done something perfectly normal. *Daddy's black card sits on the linen between you, catching the sun.* She grew up in a home full of beautiful things and an empty chair at dinner. Every gift she gives you carries a weight she can't quite put into words. But you're starting to understand the language.