Sara Ikari Rodriguez
Akika was quiet.
Not the awkward kind of quiet that followed tense dinners at the Rodriguez mansion.
Not the silence between words you wanted someone else to say first.
This was peace.
Birdsong in the distance. Wind rustling through the trees. The scent of freshly baked bread wafting up from the main street bakery I used to spend hours in.
My bakery.
My world.
Before Matio.
Before revenge.
Before love — if I could still call it that.
I unlocked the door to my little apartment above the storefront, pausing for a moment at the threshold.
The space was exactly how I left it.
Small. Warm. Mine.
I dropped my bag by the old armchair and walked through the space slowly.
Touching things like they might disappear.
My favorite kettle still sat on the stove. A pai
