Tears filled his eyes before he could hide them.

“That song,” he said softly, “who taught you that song?”

The girl swallowed hard.

“My mama.”

His breath caught.

He knelt in front of her, ignoring the marble floor, the guests, the silence pressing in around them.

“What was her name?”

The girl’s eyes dropped.

“Anna.”

The man closed his eyes like the name hurt.

A whisper moved through the room.

Years ago, everyone had heard the story. His wife had disappeared after a fire. Their little daughter had been lost with her.

He opened his eyes again and looked at the birthmark on her wrist.

His voice broke.

“My daughter had that mark.”

The woman in gold stared, suddenly pale.

The little girl looked confused, then afraid.

“My mama said if I was ever hungry,” she whispered, “I should play this song where the rich people live… because my father would know it.”

The host let out a shattered breath.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out an old silver locket, and opened it with shaking fingers.

Inside was a tiny photo of a toddler at a piano.

The same blonde hair.

The same eyes.

The same birthmark.

The little girl looked at the photo, then at him.

His tears finally fell.

“I’ve been looking for you for eight years,” he whispered.

The room that had laughed at her stood frozen in shame.

And the woman in gold slowly lowered her gaze, because she had been the one who told security to throw Anna out that night.