But just then, before either of them could speak again, a sharp, firm voice cut through the peaceful silence.
"Kafka! Kafka, come on, let's go already! We're already late for the appointment. Why are you still sitting there?"
Both men turned their heads.
Coming down the aisle between the shelves, her heels clicking against the wooden floor, was Vivian—strict, composed, and radiating that same commanding energy he'd described.
She looked every bit like a woman who ran her household with an iron will and an organized schedule.
Her hair was tied neatly behind her head, her expression calm yet deadly serious—the kind of look that could make even the boldest man sit up straight.
And in her hand, she was dragging along a small, protesting Daisy, who was clutching a children's book in one arm and muttering about how unfair everything was.
It didn't take much guessing to know that the family was clearly headed to a prenatal check-up.
