A knock echoed through the bakery's loft at dusk.
Elaine stood barefoot on the cool tile, heart stilling. She hadn't opened the letter. Not yet.
She glanced at the window. The sea shimmered under fading light.
The knock came again.
She opened the door.
James stood there, rain-soaked, eyes bloodshot but steady.
“I know I shouldn't be here," he said.
Elaine didn't move. “But you came anyway."
“I just needed you to hear it. Out loud."
She stepped aside without a word. He entered quietly.
The room was modest—warm-toned, with paintings of wings and waves on the walls.
He stared at them. “You painted again."
She crossed her arms. “What do you want, James?"
He turned to face her. “To say I failed. That I let my pain blind me. That I chose pride over truth. And you paid the price."
E
