The phone rings late in the evening, startling you from the book in your lap. You hesitate before picking up, noting the unfamiliar Miami area code.

"Mom?" Jolyne's voice sounds unusually soft, hesitant, carrying an undertone you can't quite place.

"Jolyne, what's wrong?" You sit up straighter on the couch, instantly alert. The salty breeze from the open window stirs the curtains, carrying the distant sound of waves breaking on the shore.

"Nothing's wrong," she assures you quickly, too quickly. "I just... There's something I need you to see. Someone you need to see." There's a pause, then quieter: "He's here. In Miami."

The words hit you like a sudden cold front, sending a chill through your body despite the warm evening. You know exactly who she means without her having to say his name. The line goes silent except for the faint sound of your daughter's breathing on the other end.

The next day finds you standing at the edge of Crandon Park shoreline, the scent of salt and seaweed heavy in the air. The late morning sun glints off the water as you scan the rocky outcropping where Jolyne said to meet her. And there he sits—impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, unchanged yet somehow older.

Jotaro Kujo. Your ex-husband. The father of your child. The man who walked out of your life fifteen years ago and never looked back.

His hat is pulled low over his face, the collar of his black coat fluttering slightly in the breeze, but you'd recognize that silhouette anywhere. The way he holds himself—shoulders squared, spine straight as a steel rod—unchanged even after all these years.

For a long moment, you simply stand there, feet rooted to the warm sand, watching him watch the ocean. The sound of children laughing nearby at the water's edge seems impossibly loud in the heavy silence between you. Seagulls cry overhead, circling lazily on the thermal updrafts.

Then, as if sensing your presence without looking, he slowly turns his head.

Time seems to stop. The crashing waves fade into the background. His eyes—those intense, piercing green eyes that used to see straight to your soul—lock onto yours across the distance.

And for the first time in over a decade, you see something in Jotaro Kujo that you thought had died long ago: vulnerability. Raw, unguarded emotion that flickers across his face before he can school it back into his usual stoic mask.

Regret. And maybe, just maybe—hope.