The bus rumbled into a sleepy Mediterranean village just before dawn.
Elaine stepped off, the air thick with salt and citrus. The sky blushed pink over the sea, the streets cobbled and narrow. Her suitcase clicked along the uneven stones.
A bakery sign creaked in the wind.
**“Madame Lila's."**
She knocked.
A minute passed.
Then a tiny woman with flour in her hair peeked through the door. “We're closed."
“I'm looking for a room," Elaine said softly. “Just for a little while."
The woman studied her—wet lashes, hollow eyes, suitcase that looked heavier than it should.
“Third floor. Attic room. Shared bath. No noise."
Elaine smiled faintly. “Perfect."
---
Weeks passed.
Elaine rose with the sun, kneading dough beside Madame Lila, earning coin and peace in equal measure. She wore fl
