Prologue
447 Words
She wasn’t supposed to come back.
The house on the hill had been empty for ten years.
Ten years since Lola Rosa’s breathing stopped in the bedroom with the pink wall.
Ten years since Lina stopped spending summers in Malibu.
Now the roof was gone.
Lina stood at the bus stop with one suitcase and no plan beyond the next two weeks.
Fix it.
Sell it.
Leave.
That was the contract she made with herself on the 12-hour ride from Manila.
No looking at the mango tree.
No opening the bedroom door.
No remembering what it felt like to be safe.
The mountain air was colder than she remembered. Fog sat low over the pine trees, thick enough to hide the town.
Malibu had not changed.
One road. One hardware store. One sari-sari store with a faded Coca-Cola sign.
Everyone still stared.
“Ms. Vera?”
She turned.
He was already there.
A man. Early thirties. Gray shirt. Dust on his boots. A hammer in his hand like it belonged there.
He wasn’t looking at her suitcase. He was looking at the house behind her.
Or what was left of it.
“You’re late,” he said.
Lina frowned. “I didn’t hire anyone.”
“No,” he said. “But the porch was going to fall before you got here.”
He nodded at the front steps. One side had collapsed into dirt. Without the porch, the whole front of the house looked like it was sliding off the hill.
“I’m Dreo,” he said. “Santos.”
A pause.
“I fix houses.”
Lina opened her mouth to say no. To say she had two weeks. To say she didn’t need help.
But the wind moved through the broken windows and made a sound like a sigh.
Like the house was tired.
“Two weeks,” she said instead.
His eyes lifted to hers for the first time. Dark. Quiet. No pity in them.
“Two weeks,” he repeated.
He didn’t ask why she was here.
He didn’t ask about Manila.
He didn’t ask why her hands were shaking around the handle of her suitcase.
He just turned, walked up the broken steps, and set his hammer down on the rotting wood.
Tested it with his weight.
Nodded once.
“It can be kept,” he said.
Lina didn’t answer.
Because for the first time in three months, someone had looked at something broken and didn’t tell her to throw it away.
And she hated that it made her want to stay.
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*End Prologue*
CONTENT WARNING:
Past heartbreak, grief, emotional slow burn. No cheating. No explicit scenes until late. Fade-to-black.
- Writer
