The air inside was rich with coffee, blending with polished wood and old books. A man in his forties sat at a modern coffee table, pouring from a silver pot with careful precision.

He wore a simple gray suit, his hair neatly styled. His expression was warm and welcoming. When he saw her, he set the pot down and stood gracefully.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Scott. I’m Sebastian Wright.”

Isabella gave a slight, polite nod. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Wright.”

Sebastian gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, sit.” Isabella took the seat without hesitation.

He got straight to the point. “Miss Scott, you’re here about the origin of this bead bracelet?”

Isabella nodded and handed it over. “Yes. It means a great deal to me.”

He examined the delicate carvings with quiet respect. After a moment, he spoke slowly. “I obtained this three years ago... from a woman.”

“Do you have any way to contact her? A number? An address?” Isabella leaned forward, her hands tightening around her bag.

Sebastian sighed. “She was very private—cautious and reserved.” He opened a drawer, searched through it, and pulled out a faded piece of paper. “This is all I have.” He slid it across the table. “It’s been three years. I can’t guarantee the number still works.”

Isabella clutched the paper tightly, as if it might vanish. This single set of digits could lead her to her mother.

Her voice was thick with emotion. “Thank you, Mr. Wright.”

Sebastian offered a gentle smile. “I hope it brings you the answers you seek.”

Isabella stood, bowed her head in gratitude, and turned to leave.

Outside, the air felt charged with possibility. She walked to her car, slid inside, and closed the door. For a long moment, she just stared at the numbers. Her palm was damp with sweat. She took a shaky breath and started the engine.

Her hands gripped the wheel, but her mind was elsewhere—lost in memories of her mother’s voice and laughter.

The drive seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, she pulled over to the roadside and stopped. She sat there, holding the paper as if it held her entire past.

One call. That was all it took to see if this was real—or just another dead end.

Her fingers trembled as she dialed and lifted the phone to her ear.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

Each ring felt like an eternity. Her breath caught in her throat. The anticipation was overwhelming.

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of the number you dialed. Please leave a message after the tone…”

The automated voice hit her like a physical blow. Her heart sank. The hope she had clung to flickered and dimmed.

No answer.