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Absolutely nothing.

Wherever she is, we hope she’s warm, safe, and still iconic.

Come back soon, Ice Princess.

The internet misses you.

nineteen

. . .

The Moon and her lonely Wanderer

“The ice never asks me to be anyone else. Just… me.” — A

Later that same day, I find myself back in the damn kitchen, except this time, Stephen is nowhere to be found.

I come down for a glass of water, hoping to avoid everyone, but Mrs. Han is already there, fixing herself a snack.

Mika is taking her second nap of the day.

She's truly thriving here.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Puerto Rico,” Mrs. Han says. “It looks lovely.”

“It is.”

“Do you visit often?”

“Once or twice a year, when my schedule allows it.”

“Do you speak the language? Spanish, right?”

“Yes, and yes, I do.”

I chug my glass of water, hoping to make my escape before the conversation turns into another social obligation.

Then I hear it.

A piano.

A soft melody drifts through the silence, delicate and haunting enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.

The notes float faintly through the kitchen, and something tightens in my chest. Sadness creeps in, followed by something I recognize but have never quite felt before.

Heartbreak.

I freeze.

Mrs. Han doesn’t.

She simply smiles, as though she’s been waiting for this moment.

Another note drifts through the air, hauntingly beautiful.

Slow. Melancholic. Almost painfully beautiful.

I turn toward Mrs. Han.