Author's Preface
Year 2059
Oslo, Norway
Present Time
“Mama...”
Clara smiled. “There it is, that smile you’ve been holding back ever since we sat down.”
Amara laughed softly, her eyes shining with excitement as she glanced quickly at the man sitting beside her. “I don’t think I can hide it anymore.”
Clara De Vera, sixty years old now, held her warm cup of tea between her hands. She had lived in Norway for more than twenty years, but tea was still her favorite. Maybe because it reminded her of how she had learned to live her life... calm, steady, and never in a hurry.
Across from her sat Amara De Vera, her only daughter. In her thirties, she was already a successful lawyer. Smart, confident, and beautiful. She had warm brown eyes that reminded Clara of her father, Marco.
Beside Amara sat Nicolai, her long-time boyfriend. With his light blond hair and blue eyes, he was undeniably handsome. Yet it was the way he cared for Amara that always stood out to Clara.
Amara reached across the table and placed her left hand gently in front of her mother. “We wanted you to be the first to know.”
Clara’s gaze fell. A diamond ring caught the light, casting tiny rainbows across the white tablecloth. For a moment, she could only stare. Then she looked up, her voice soft with emotion. “He proposed?”
Amara nodded, tears already forming in her eyes. “Last night.”
Nicolai leaned closer, his hand resting naturally over Amara’s. “I wanted to wait for the perfect moment,” he admitted, smiling. “But I realized there is no such thing. There is only her.”
He looked straight at Clara, his expression calm and sincere. “I love your daughter, Mrs. De Vera. More than I can explain. And I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making sure she is happy.”
Clara felt her chest tighten. For a second, another memory came back vividly... young Marco, nervous and shy, standing under a cloudy sky in the Philippines, holding a tiny velvet box. “It's not much, but I promise I will give you a better one,” he had said. “It’s everything,” Clara had answered. But he never got the chance to give her anything more.
She reached out and held Amara’s hand, the diamond cold and bright against her skin. “It is not the ring that is beautiful,” Clara said softly. “It is the beautiful life waiting for you after this.”
Amara stood up, walked around the table, and wrapped her arms tightly around her mother. “I’m so happy, Mama.”
“I know.” Clara hugged her back just as hard. “I am happy too.”
“I was scared you would cry.”
“Oh, I’m trying very hard not to.”
“You already failed,” Amara laughed, wiping her eyes.
“I know.”
When they sat back down, Nicolai excused himself for a moment, his phone had rung, work from Stockholm, he said. Clara watched him walk away, then turned back to her daughter.
“You chose well,” she said quietly.
Amara’s smile softened. “I know, Mama.”
They were silent for a while, just looking at each other, the kind of quiet that only people who truly love each other can share. Then Amara leaned forward, her expression turning gentle but serious.
“Mama... can I ask you something?”
“Of course anak , what is it?”
“When Papa died...” Amara paused, choosing her words carefully. “You were only twenty‑nine. And I was only five years old. You spent all your years after that working hard, raising me alone, giving up everything just so I could have a good life.”
Her voice became softer. “Did you ever resent him? For leaving so early? Did you ever resent me... for making you give up your own dreams?”
Clara blinked, caught off guard by the question. For a moment, something flickered across her face... surprise, followed by a quiet sadness she quickly tried to hide. She turned her gaze toward the window, watching the sun slowly sink toward the water as she gathered herself.
“I never resented your father,” she answered honestly. “He didn’t want to leave us so soon. And as for you...”
She turned back, smiling with eyes full of love. “You were never a burden. You were my reason. You were enough.”
“But Mama...” Amara shook her head. “You never traveled. You never bought things just because you liked them. You never fell in love again. You put everyone else first.”
Amara’s voice softened. “You spent your entire youth surviving.” She swallowed. “I remember more than you think.”
“I remember waiting for you outside offices because you worked overtime.”
“I remember eating instant noodles alone a lot of times because you said you weren’t hungry.”
“I remember pretending to be asleep whenever I heard you crying.”
Clara lowered her eyes. “You remember too much, Amara.”
“I had to. Watching you made me grow up faster.”
Silence settled between them. Not awkward. Only honest. Clara then sighed softly. “I had dreams once, yes. I wanted to finish my studies, write books, see the world, and grow old with your father. But life had different plans. And seeing you now successful, loved, happy... that is enough for me.”
Amara held both her mother’s hands tightly. “You deserve more than just ‘enough,’ Mama. You deserve to have something just for yourself.”
Clara laughed gently. “At my age? Oh, darling some dreams... They just stop knocking on the door.”
“Maybe,” Amara whispered, her eyes shining. “But maybe some doors never really close.”
A little later, Nicolai came back, and soon after, they began eating, occasionally laughing as they shared stories. A few moments later, Amara’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen and sighed.
“It’s the office. They need me back urgently.” She stood up quickly. “I’m so sorry, Mama.”
“Go ahead,” Clara said, waving her hand. “I’ll be fine. I’m meeting your aunt Ingrid later anyway.”
Nicolai signaled for the bill, but before they could leave, Amara suddenly remembered something.
“Oh! Wait, I almost forgot your gift.”
She bent down and pulled a small, elegant black box from her bag, sliding it across the table.
Clara raised an eyebrow. “You already paid for lunch.”
“Open it.”
“Amara...”
“Mama.”
The playful insistence in her daughter’s voice made Clara smile. With careful fingers, she lifted the lid. Inside, resting on dark velvet, was a delicate silver pendant. At its center lay an oval moonstone, unlike anything Clara had ever seen. It shimmered with shifting colors... blue, green, and soft violet, as if someone had captured the glow of the Northern Lights inside it.
“It’s beautiful,” Clara whispered.
“We found it in Lofoten last month,” Amara said. “In a tiny antique shop. The old woman who owned it was strange... She kept staring at me. Then she asked if I knew someone who spent her whole life making others happy but forgot to wish for her own happiness.”
She gently fastened the necklace around Clara’s neck. The silver felt surprisingly warm against her skin.
“She called it Hjertesteinen —the Heart Stone. Legend says it hears the silent wishes we keep deep in our hearts.”
Amara touched the stone resting against Clara’s chest. “I don’t believe in magic, Mama. But when she said that... I thought of you immediately.”
Clara felt her throat tighten. She touched the glowing stone, its warmth spreading slowly through her chest. “Thank you, my love. This is the best gift I have ever received.”
Amara hugged her one last time, longer and tighter than before.
“I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too.”
Amara pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, her voice barely a whisper.
“And Mama... if by some impossible miracle... life ever gives you another chance... please choose yourself. Not just once. But every single day.”
Clara smiled, laughing softly, wiping a tear away. “I promise.”
“Good. Now we really have to go.”
Nicolai gave a polite bow. “Take care, Mrs. De Vera.” They walked away, hand in hand, toward the exit.
Clara stayed sitting there, alone now, the soft piano music still playing. Her fingers traced the moonstone. It felt warmer and warmer, almost alive.
Another chance, she thought with a soft, sad smile. At sixty? That would truly be a miracle.
She closed her eyes for just a moment, and deep in her heart, she whispered the wish she had never dared say out loud.
If only I could do it all again... to live not just for others but for myself too...