Home again, hearts apart
547 Words
Sienna stepped off the train with heavy legs and an even heavier heart. The hum of the city, once overwhelming, now felt distant—replaced by the soft rustle of trees and the familiar scent of earth that clung to the dusty path leading home. Her suitcase bumped along behind her, wheels catching on uneven gravel, each step slower than the last.
She hadn’t even reached the porch when she saw her mother standing in front of the little roadside shop. The same wooden stall. The same hand-painted sign. Pirozhki still baking in the small oven behind her. Only now, her mother’s eyes were ringed with worry, her hands nervously wiping flour onto her apron.
“Sienna?” her mother’s voice cracked.
Sienna tried to smile, to be brave. “I’m home, Mama.”
Her mother rushed forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace, arms warm and familiar. She didn’t ask what happened—didn’t need to. She just held her. Long enough for Sienna’s throat to close up and tears to sting behind her eyes.
Inside, the scent of freshly baked pirozhki filled the air, comforting yet bittersweet. Her mother busied herself in the kitchen, not prying, only stealing quiet glances when she thought Sienna wasn’t looking. But Sienna saw it. The flicker of sadness. The unspoken disappointment. The fear that her daughter’s big dream had slipped through her fingers.
By the next morning, the storm she had left behind began to unravel.
The temp assistant—a woman with a flawless résumé—turned out to be an organizational disaster. She sent the wrong pitch deck to the investors, confusing last quarter’s projections with a completely different company. She booked a meeting room on the wrong floor, causing a ten-minute delay. Lunch was late. Coffee was wrong. Twice.
Dante Blackwood’s patience had its limits.
By noon, he sat in the back seat of a black luxury car parked outside the hotel, jaw tight, shoulders tense. The city moved past the tinted windows in a blur, but he wasn’t seeing any of it.
Nothing was working.
Not without her.
He missed her voice reminding him of his next meeting. Her calm efficiency. The way she handed him coffee exactly how he liked it—without asking. Her soft corrections when his temper flared. She was the steady pulse of his chaotic day, and without her, everything was offbeat.
He unlocked his phone and stared at the empty message box far too long.
Dante Blackwood: I fired the wrong person.
He hesitated.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Dante Blackwood: Sienna. I made a mistake. I lost my temper and I’m sorry.
Still not enough.
He took a breath.
Dante Blackwood: I haven’t been able to focus since you left. I shouldn’t have let you go. Come back to me, Sienna.
He hit send, exhaled, and let the phone drop onto the seat beside him. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair.
Miles away, Sienna stood behind her mother’s stall, wrapping warm pirozhki with practiced hands. Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket.
She wiped her fingers and checked the screen.
One message.
Her breath caught.
She read it once. Then again.
Her heart thudded wildly in her chest.
Dante Blackwood wanted her back.
- Writer
