"A0112.C2104.E0106.D2003.B2013." The sequence burns behind my eyelids, an incessant mantra denying me rest for the umpteenth consecutive night. Sleep, once a refuge, has become as elusive as Rose herself. With mechanical precision, I extricate myself from the tangled sheets that cling like desperate fingers, my bare feet meeting the floor with a muted impact.

The corridors of my domicile — no, merely a structure now, devoid of warmth — amplify the void Rose's departure has carved. Shadows dance in the wan glow of the solitary night lamp, mocking the emptiness that has taken up residence.

I pause at the threshold of my former office, hand hovering over the doorknob. A fleeting glance towards the living area reveals a stack of neglected paperwork, its presence a silent reprimand. But such trivialities hold no sway over my current fixation.

The door's hinges voice their protest as I enter, unleashing a cloud of dust motes that pirouette in the stale air. The mingled scent of aging tomes and dormant electronics assaults my olfactory senses — a scent that was once comforting, now bittersweet.

My fingers leave precise trails in the dust coating the anachronistic computer, a relic among the cutting-edge technology populating the rest of the dwelling. How many nights did Rose and I spend here, our cognitive processes in perfect synchronization as we constructed our vision?

The machine awakens with a familiar whir, its screen casting an illumination that only serves to emphasize the room's disconnection from reality. The glow feels almost accusatory, as if demanding answers I don't possess.

As the antiquated system initializes, I lean back in the chair, my eyes fixed on the blinking cursor. The haunting sequence materializes on the screen: "A0112.C2104.E0106.D2003.B2013."

My fingers hover above the keyboard with an uncharacteristic tremor. The decryption process should be effortless, a mere formality given our shared authorship of this cryptographic system. And yet, I find myself... reluctant.

I retract my hands, digits curling into tight fists. Years of searching, of exhausting every conceivable resource, have led to this juncture. Now, faced with the key to unraveling Rose's disappearance, I find myself paralyzed.

Am I adequately prepared for the potential ramifications of this revelation? My gaze traces the alphanumeric sequence once more. A most unsettling thought presents itself: what if her departure was a direct consequence of my actions?

I attempt to dismiss such unproductive ruminations. This has been my primary objective: to acquire data, to locate Rose. Yet, an irrational fear of potential discoveries keeps me immobilized.

Perhaps a few more moments in this state of quantum uncertainty, where Rose's motivations remain undefined, where the possibility persists that her disappearance was not a rejection of our collaborative efforts.

Finally overcoming my illogical hesitation, I commence the decryption process. "A0-112, C2-104, E0-106, D2-003, B2-013," I verbalize, the sound of my voice an alien intrusion in the room's oppressive silence.

I lean forward, initiating the rearrangement sequence. "A0 and E0 take precedence, followed by B2, C2, and D2." The familiar dopamine release associated with problem-solving begins to manifest, temporarily superseding the persistent ache of Rose's absence. Next, I order the numerical components: 003, 013, 104, 106, 112.

"A0-003, E0-013, B2-104, C2-106, D2-112," I articulate as the final configuration emerges. For a fleeting moment, I experience an echo of our former synchronicity, as if Rose's presence lingers, tacitly approving my solution.

Armed with the decrypted sequence, I navigate the directory structure. Each subdirectory access is akin to turning a page in our shared historical narrative. The inception of Angel, the preliminary designs for Rose's pendant — every mouse click evokes a memory, simultaneously poignant and acute.

I recall with perfect clarity the day we implemented this system. "We'll have separate sections," Rose had insisted. "No snooping, okay? We trust each other."

And indeed, trust was the cornerstone of our partnership. Despite my inherent inquisitiveness and my capacity to circumvent any security protocol, I never once violated the sanctity of her private files. Even in the wake of her inexplicable departure, the thought of breaching that trust never manifested. Our mutual faith was axiomatic, unassailable.

Or so I had erroneously concluded.

As I navigate deeper into the directory structure, following the path delineated by the decoded sequence, the weight of our fractured trust becomes increasingly burdensome. The woman who had shared her life, her work, her very thoughts with me, chose to vanish without a trace. It's a betrayal that defies logical analysis, a wound that resists the healing effects of time.

I pause at the terminal folder, my cursor suspended above it. My cardiovascular rate increases, a physiological response to the conflicting emotions of anticipation and trepidation. I'm closer than ever to unraveling the mystery of Rose's disappearance, yet a part of me remains apprehensive.

The machine's chime interrupts my ruminations, the sound reverberating through my confined space. I lean forward, eyes methodically scanning the display, expecting coordinates or a discernible clue to Rose's whereabouts.

Instead, I'm redirected to a concealed folder, its presence both unanticipated and oddly portentous. My respiratory rate falters momentarily as I grasp the significance of this development. With a slight tremor in my hand, I extend my digits towards the mouse, poised to unlock the encrypted data within.

The initial image materializes on the screen, and with it, an unexpected surge of memories. Rose and I, engrossed in our prototype, our facial expressions indicative of high levels of excitement. Her smile... it's so vibrant, so genuine. It elicits an unforeseen emotional response within me. She's wearing an oversized laboratory coat, the sleeves excessively long, nearly obscuring her hands.

I find myself transported back to that moment, hearing her melodious laughter echoing in my ears.. "Look, Violet!" she had exclaimed, twirling in the too-large coat. "I've discovered a new fashion trend — the invisible hand!" Her joy was... infectious. And soon we were both in stitches, momentarily alleviating the stress of our work. Now, I can't help but question — how could her supposedly infallible foresight overlook such a trivial detail? The great Seer, confounded by a simple sizing chart.

The subsequent image evokes an involuntary smile. It depicts us in the kitchen, surrounded by culinary implements in disarray. Rose stands proudly beside a dish that can only be described as a gastronomic anomaly. Our facial expressions are a comical blend of determination and poorly concealed disgust.

I recall that evening with surprising clarity. Rose had been resolute in her decision to prepare a gourmet meal, citing her powers as the source of the perfect recipe. The result was a dish that could generously be described as 'experimental'. As we cautiously sampled the dish, our eyes met across the table, and we erupted in laughter. "Well," Rose had said, wiping moisture from her eyes, "I guess my powers don't extend to the culinary arts." We resorted to ordering takeout, but the shared laughter... it was more nourishing than any meal could have been.

My chest tightens as the next photograph appears. It's my birthday celebration, the room aglow with candlelight. Rose's face is radiant, her eyes sparkling as she approaches with a cake. But I know what follows — the sudden loss of power that plunged us into darkness.

I can still visualize Rose's expression in the sudden gloom, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Violet," she had stammered, her cheeks flushing in the candlelight. "I should have foreseen this." But as we stood there in the darkness, the cake's candles providing the only illumination, something... magical transpired. We sang, our voices filling the void, and as I made my wish, I realized... I already had everything I could ever desire, right there in that imperfect moment.

The following photograph causes my breath to hitch. It's from our camping expedition, our faces sun-kissed and carefree against a backdrop of pristine azure sky. But I know the storm that's approaching, just beyond the frame.

Hours after this image was captured, we found ourselves huddled in a cave, soaked to the bone, watching sheets of rain turn the campsite into a muddy mess. Rose was distraught, repeatedly checking her phone's weather application which stubbornly predicted clear skies. But as we sat there, observing the downpour, something... shifted. Rose turned to me, her wet hair plastered to her face, and smiled. In that cave, we held each other close.

With each photo, each memory of her power failing, an unsettling feeling grows within me. It doesn't add up. How could Rose, the great Seer who could glimpse the very threads of destiny, be so oblivious to these mundane occurrences? She should have known — she always knew. Logically, our shared experiences should have approached perfection, every potential mishap accounted for and circumvented. Why weren't they?

Leaning back in my chair, eyes still fixed on the screen, I find my mind racing. Possibilities, half-formed theories, and fragmented memories swirl in chaos. There's something here, some elusive piece of the puzzle that I'm missing — a clue that could help me understand her sudden departure, her disappearance without a trace.

I recline in my chair, gaze fixed upon the display. My mind races, generating hypotheses and fragmentary theories. There's a missing element here. Something that might explain her reasons for departing, for vanishing without so much as a farewell.

Yet, all that remains are these photo, these frozen moments in time serving as mementos of the life we once shared. A life replete with mirth and affection, with triumphs and setbacks, with instances of elation and sorrow. And throughout it all, the question lingers — how could she, with her extraordinary foresight, be so blind to the immediate present? And why has it taken me so long to recognize this discrepancy?

As I continue to peruse these digital memories, the final image materializes, its very presence ripping my heart apart. The photograph, labeled 'The Beginning', depicts the location of our final encounter, the site of our unanticipated parting. It's a derelict establishment on the city's periphery, situated precariously near the edge of a cliff. The tables and chairs, once neatly arranged for patrons, now lie scattered and disheveled.

I feel a noose tighten in my throat as I gaze at the screen, my eyes tracing every pixel, every detail of the scene before me. How many times have I retreated to this place alone, clinging to the irrational hope that she would appear, that I might catch a glimpse of her silver hair glinting in the sunlight? The memory of our last conversation there, so vivid in my mind's eye, begins to play out like a bittersweet film reel.

.

.

.

We sat together at a small table on the balcony of the abandoned store, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the overhead awning and casting a golden glow over the worn surfaces around us. Rose idly traced patterns on the tabletop with her fingertips, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Hey, Violet," she said finally, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. "Is being part of Angel's cast fun?"

Her voice was light and curious, but I could sense the weight behind her question, the unspoken depths that lay beneath the surface. I met her gaze, my lips curving into a genuine smile.

"Of course," I replied without hesitation. "We get to change the world for the better. What's not to like?"

A soft, gentle smile spread across Rose's face, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. In that moment, she was radiant, her beauty shining from within and illuminating the entire room.

"Yeah, I like it too," she murmured, her eyes holding mine in an intense, searching gaze. "Do you... trust someone else to direct it? So we can be an audience for once? A change of pace, maybe?"

The question caught me off guard, and I felt my brow furrow in confusion. Trust someone else with our life's work? The very notion was inconceivable to me.

"No way," I said, shaking my head emphatically. "This is our creation, Rose. How can I trust anyone but us?"

My words hung in the air, heavy with conviction and unwavering certainty. Angel was our child, our legacy, and the thought of handing it over to anyone else was unthinkable.

Rose nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. For a long, tense moment, she seemed to be searching my face for something, her expression unreadable. Then, with a soft sigh, she spoke again.

"I see," she murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "Thanks for being so dedicated to your role."

She forced a smile, but I could sense the underlying sadness in her eyes, a flicker of disappointment that she couldn't quite mask. It was as if she had been hoping for a different answer, a different path for us to take.

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I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Hey, we're in this together, remember? Isn't that what you want?" I said, my voice soft and reassuring. "No matter what happens, we'll face it side by side."

Rose's smile widened, her eyes shining with a mix of love and gratitude. She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers through mine in a simple gesture that spoke volumes.

"Together," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Always."

In that moment, sitting in the dusty confines of the abandoned store, the world beyond the cliff faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the warmth of her hand in mine, the connection that bound us together, and the promise of a future that we would forge side by side, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

Little did I know that our path was about to take an unexpected turn, one that would test the very limits of our love and our dedication to each other.

.

.

.

The memory fades, and I am left staring at the screen, my heart heavy. My mind races, connecting the dots, piecing together the fragments of our past. I chose my words poorly. I failed to see the bigger picture. My answer, so flippant and self-assured, was the wrong one.

Without a second thought, I leap from my chair, sending it skittering across the floor. I rush out of the office, my heart pounding in my chest, propelled by a sudden, desperate urgency. The cool night air hits me as I burst out of the complex, but I barely feel it, my mind consumed by a singular thought.

Rose. I have to find her. I have to tell her... I'm sorry.

My car, the one I'm so proud of for its unparalleled velocity and acceleration, has never felt so agonizingly slow. The streets, devoid of any other vehicles, still feel crowded, as if the very air itself is conspiring to impede my progress. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles straining against the leather as I push the engine to its limits.

I replay our last conversation over and over in my mind, cursing my own foolishness, my own inability to see what was right in front of me. The words become a mantra, a desperate plea whispered into the night air as I weave through the empty streets.

"I'm sorry, Rose. I didn't mean it. I gave you the wrong answer."

They tumble from my lips, a litany of regret and longing that fills the confines of the car. I can feel the seconds ticking away, each one a torturous eternity that separates me from the chance to make things right.

I push the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring in protest as I demand every ounce of power it can muster. The city is but a blur in my peripheral vision. All that matters is reaching that place, that abandoned store on the outskirts of town, where the threads of our lives first became entangled.

"Please, please... be there. Just this time. Just... this... time."

The words are a fervent prayer, a plea to whatever forces govern the universe to grant me this one chance, this one opportunity to make amends. Despite my skepticism towards metaphysical entities, I find my belief faltering in these dire straits. Now, more than ever, I desperately pray for the existence of a higher power — prepared to willingly relinquish even my own mortality as an offering, should it secure this solitary prospect for atonement.

I round the final corner, my heart in my throat, and there it is. The store, exactly as it appears in the photo, exactly as I remember it. The tables and chairs, scattered and unkempt. The cliff's edge, a looming presence in the distance.

I bring the car to a screeching halt, the tires protesting against the asphalt as I throw open the door and stumble out onto the pavement. My chest heaves, my lungs burning , but I pay no heed to the physical discomfort.

My eyes scan the area with a frantic intensity, darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of her presence. And then, I see it. A flash of silver, a glint of starlight amidst the darkness. My breath catches in my throat, my heart pounding so loudly I fear it might burst from my chest.

Rose. She's here. She's really here.

I take a step forward, my voice cracking as I call out her name, the words tearing from my throat with a raw desperation.

"Rose! I'm here! I... I have another answer for you. Please..." I trail off, my eyes locked on her form, my entire being focused on this single, fragile moment. The world around us slowly turns to dust, and all that remains is the space between us, the words I need to say. I'll give you another answer, Rose. One that I should have given you long ago. One that I pray will bring you back to me, back to the life we once shared.

"So you've come," she says, her voice soft and tinged with a hint of melancholy. "I assume Mask gave you the sequence, just like I directed."

The words hang in the air between us, a confirmation of her ever-present power, even in the face of our long separation. But as much as I yearn to bridge the gap, to take her in my arms and never let go, there are questions that burn in my mind, demanding answers.

"Please, tell me," I manage to say, my voice cracking with the weight of my emotions. "Why did you abandon me? Why did you abandon our creation? What did I do wrong? Was it because of my answer?"

The silence that follows is deafening. But then, she turns, her movements slow and deliberate. In her hand, she holds a small handkerchief, which she brings to my face, gently wiping away the sweat and the tears that I hadn't even realized were there.

Her touch, so familiar and yet so foreign, brings back a wealth of memories, the peaceful nostalgia that I've been yearning for. And when her eyes meet mine, those starlit orbs that have haunted my dreams for so long, I feel my breath catch in my throat.

But as I gaze into them, I notice a change. The once vibrant, shimmering depths now seem dulled. The sparkle that used to dance in her irises, reflecting countless possible futures, has dimmed considerably. I can't help but wonder what horrors she's witnessed, what terrible visions have stolen the light from her eyes.

"Because I saw the future," she whispers, her voice trailing off into the night. She takes a shuddering breath before continuing, "There was a fixed point: your death. And its condition: us in Angel." Her voice breaks, and she looks away, her shoulders trembling. "With my exit, that condition was nullified, you live... without me."

The revelation slams into me, sending my world spinning off its axis. I stumble backwards, my legs giving way beneath me as the full impact of her words wears me out. It's a future I had never dared to imagine.

But before I can crumple to the ground, she is there, her hand grasping mine with a strength that belies her slender frame.

"I couldn't tell you," she continues, her voice heavy with regret. Her eyes, a storm of emotions, search mine, silently pleading for understanding. "Angel means everything to you. I couldn't bear to convince you to abandon it. I was... I was so wrong." She pauses, drawing a shaky breath before continuing, "I wanted to reveal the script but I saw how it would unfold. Your words, your unwavering passion... they would have persuaded me to stay. I couldn't risk that, not with your life at stake."

Rose's fingers intertwine with mine, squeezing gently as if to emphasize her next words. "I've silently watched over you all these years, witnessed the fading of your smile. What good is a body if the soul is withered?"

She reaches up, her fingers grazing the delicate crystal that hangs from her neck. The very pendant I had crafted for her, to help her control her power and focus her visions.

"Do you know when I'm happiest, Violet?" she asks, her voice raw with emotion. Her eyes lock onto mine, intense and vulnerable. "It's when I don't use this pendant. All those memories with you, my clumsiness, the mishaps with your inventions. The uncertainty brought me joy. Even for just a fleeting moment, I felt alive with you by my side."

How could I not have seen it before? How could I have been so blind to the baggage that she carried, the burden of her own knowledge?

Rose takes a deep, shaky breath, her gaze drifting to the horizon. "I was so tired, Violet," she confesses, her voice barely audible. "This 'gift' has shown me more suffering than peace. Every time I look into the future, I see despair, anguish, misery." Her eyes snap back to mine, softening as they meet my gaze. "But when I look at the present, I see... you. Smiling, laughing, being... you. That's what kept me going."

Of course, she had been pressed down by the visions of the future, by the countless horrible outcomes that she had witnessed. And yet, somehow, she had found the strength to push past that darkness, to share those genuine, intimate moments with me, to find joy in the unpredictability of a life lived in the present. Seer wasn't present in those still frames, it was Rose all along. And I was too caught up in the moment with her antics to notice.

I reach out, cupping her face in my hands, my thumbs gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall. "Rose," I breathe, my voice thick with emotion, "I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

She leans into my touch, her eyes closing for a moment as she savors the contact. When she opens them again, they're filled with a mixture of love and pain that makes my heart ache. "Don't be sorry," she whispers, placing her hand over mine. "Those moments with you... they were worth every second of pain."

With a sudden, violent motion, Rose grasps the pendant and yanks it from her neck, snapping the chain.

"This gorgeous thing that you made for me," she chokes out, her voice cracking under the weight of her confession, "it's killing me, Violet."

I watch, transfixed, as she holds the pendant in her trembling hands. The crystal catches the moonlight, casting fractured rainbows across her face, illuminating the tracks of her tears. For a moment, it's breathtakingly beautiful — and then, with a cry of anguish that seems to tear from the very depths of her soul, she hurls it to the ground. The pendant shatters, a million glittering pieces scattering across the earth like fallen stars.

"I've had enough," she whispers, her voice raw and broken. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are now dim with exhaustion and pain. "I don't care anymore. I just want you, Violet."

She takes a shaky step towards me, her legs barely supporting her. "I've exhausted my own power, Violet," she continues, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I've scouted every possible timeline, looking for a single script to reconnect us. I've pushed myself beyond any limit I thought possible."

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she meets my gaze. "I'm going to be blind soon, Violet. My power and my sight will be gone."

Blind. The word fills me with a mixture of horror and gut-wrenching guilt.

"And yet," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper, "I couldn't find a single path for us. It doesn't exist. I sought endlessly until my eyes bled, but there were none."

I feel my knees weaken, my world tilting on its axis. Are we truly destined to be divided? The enormity of her sacrifice, the depth of her love, it's almost too much to bear. I reach out to steady myself, my hand finding her shoulder, needing the contact to ground myself in this moment.

"Rose," I breathe, my voice thick with emotion. "I... I don't know what to say. How could you... why would you..."

She places her hand over mine, her touch gentle yet filled with an unspoken strength. "That was when I realized something," she says, a glimmer of hope breaking through the pain in her eyes. "Every time I knew the answer, you would perish. So what if I don't? This is the only path left, Violet. A path unforeseen. A path where I look at the present."

"Rose," I whisper, my voice cracking with the weight of my emotions, "I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to suffer like this, to give up so much for my sake. I was a fool, too caught up in my own dreams to see what really mattered."

She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed as she takes a shuddering breath. When she opens them again, they're filled with a fierce, unwavering love.

"I would endure it all again, a thousand times over," she murmurs, her voice soft but filled with an iron conviction. "If it meant I could see your smile just once more, I'd willingly sacrifice my sight for eternity. You're worth every moment of darkness, Violet."

As Rose's gaze falls upon the shattered remnants of the pendant, I see a universe of emotions reflected in her eyes. Uncertainty etches itself into every line of her face, relief and sorrow, hope and fear all swirling together in a tempest of feeling.

But it's not just the pendant that lies broken at our feet. I can see it in the way her shoulders tremble, in the catch of her breath. The dam that has held back years of regret, of unspoken truths and hidden pain, has finally burst.

I step closer, my heart aching with an almost physical need to comfort her, to somehow ease the burden she's carried alone for so long. As I do, I can feel the distance between us narrowing. Years of separation seem to melt away in this moment.

"Violet," she whispers, her voice quavering with the force of her emotions. The cool night breeze gently rustles of leaves above. "Am I making the right choice? You've always been so steady and sure. Without my power, I'm not the Seer anymore. I'm just... Rose. Is that enough?"

The vulnerability in her words, the tremor in her voice, the way her body shakes against mine — it all conspires to nearly break my heart. I can feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips, her pulse racing in time with my own. The scent of her hair, that unique blend of rose and violet that I've missed so desperately, fills my senses. In an instant, I'm transported back to a time when that scent meant home, meant love, meant everything.

I refuse to let her crumble, to allow doubt to cloud her mind for even a moment longer. My hands move to cradle her face, thumbs gently brushing away the tears that glisten like diamonds in the moonlight.

"Rose," I murmur, my voice soft but filled with an unshakeable certainty. My breath ghosts across her cheek, mingling with the salt of her tears. "Your actions, your choices — they come from a place of love. That's all I need to know. Your clairvoyance was never what defined you to me. You've always been Rose — the same beautifully imperfect, wonderfully unpredictable woman I fell in love with. That's who I cherish, who I need."

Even through the veil of her tears, I see hope, relief, spark within her at my words. Her body sags against mine as if a great weight has been lifted, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. I can feel the way her slender frame trembles against me, our hearts beating in perfect synchronicity.

"I want us to move on," she chokes out, her voice muffled against my chest. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, clinging to me as if I'm her lifeline in a stormy sea. "My power, my creations, my regrets — none of it matters anymore. All I need is you, Violet. You're my present, my future. Will you take this leap with me? Into the unknown, together?"

I take a deep breath, my posture straightening. "Yes, Rose. We'll leave the remnants behind and move forward together. That's my real answer, the one I should have given you all those years ago. My apology for taking this long to realize."

Rose's eyes widen, her brow furrowing in confusion. The formal words at odds with the emotional intensity of the moment. "Violet?" she asks, her voice tinged with concern. "What's wrong? Why are you talking like that?"

I blink, suddenly aware of how strange my words must sound to her. A rueful smile tugs at my lips as I run a hand through my hair, a gesture so familiar yet long forgotten. "I... I'm sorry, Rose. It's a habit I picked up after you left. Without you, I... I guess I built walls around myself, even in the way I speak."

Her eyes soften with understanding, a hint of sadness flickering in their depths. "Oh, Violet," she murmurs, reaching up to cup my cheek.

I lean into her touch, closing my eyes briefly. "But you're here now," I continue, my voice growing warmer, more like the Violet she once knew. "And I want to honor your return by being the man you remember. The man who loved you without reservations, who wasn't afraid to show his emotions."

Opening my eyes, I let her see the vulnerability, the love, the hope that I've kept hidden for so long. "So let me try again," I say, a smile spreading across my face, genuine and unguarded.

I take her hands in mine, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Yes, Rose. A thousand times yes. I'll take that leap with you, into the unknown. Together. Because there's nowhere I'd rather be than by your side. Even in death, I'll be your biggest fan. Your stories are always excellent."

Tears well up in her eyes once more, but this time they're accompanied by a radiant smile. "There's my Violet," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my forehead against hers. I can't believe I can finally utter these words again with her right before me.

"I love you, Rose. Welcome back."