Daniel returned to his rented cottage and stayed awake all night.
He opened his laptop and, with trembling fingers, typed out the title: A Seven-Year Love Letter to Serena.
The sound of keystrokes echoed through the silent room.
He was determined to write down every word he had never found the chance to say over those years—all the guilt, all the remorse.
The everyday moments he had once dismissed as trivial now became unbearably heavy beneath his pen.
The next morning, just as the first ray of sunlight spilled over the lavender fields of Brackenford, townspeople were surprised to find a large drawing board set up at the edge of the field.
A painting rested on it. The brushstrokes were clumsy, but one could still vaguely make out that it was Serena's painting, Rebirth.
Daniel had wo
