I wiped down the last corner of my tiny shop, then leaned against the wall with my hands on my hips, releasing a long, satisfying sigh.
Half a month had passed since I left Kane.
It still felt surreal—like my life had been ripped at the seams, and now I was stitching it back together one quiet moment at a time. I’d found refuge in a remote, sleepy town where no one knew my name or my history. That was the point.
On the very first day I arrived, I rented a small storefront on the edge of Main Street. I didn’t have grand plans. I didn’t want chaos or drama or anything that reminded me of him. I just wanted to make coffee, play old vinyl records, and live slowly—on my own terms.
I packed up the cleaning supplies, locked the front door, and caught sight of my reflection in the glass.
And
