"Dear, are you certain you want to do this by yourself?"
Mrs. Margaret asked, as she worked behind the counter, looking through her glasses.
Isabella let out a breath and adjusted her apron. "Yes. I must.
Unconvinced, the older woman hummed but made no further effort.
Without looking into Isabella's past, she had offered her a job at the bakery when she first came to town. But after a few months, Isabella was willing to take a chance and start her own café.
Isabella put in endless effort to turn the small, deserted room she had rented into a warm and welcoming space that smelled of vanilla and freshly brewed coffee.
She owned the little shop on the quiet side of town.
Every morning, she reminded herself that it was a new day and inhaled deeply as she opened the doors.
Her soft smile and the silent resolve in her eyes had won her the villagers' embrace at once.
The life she left behind was not questioned. Perhaps they decided to let her recover after noticing the ghosts in her eyes.
One morning, old Mr. Carter teased, "Isabella love, these cinnamon rolls might just bring a man to one knee," while nibbling on one.
She shook her head and laughed. "That's not the goal, Mr. Carter."
The elderly man smiled. "Ah, but you never know."
She didn't dispute. In actuality, she wasn't prepared to consider love once more. Perhaps she would never be.
She discovered an odd sort of calm in routine as the weeks went by. Waking up early, preparing coffee, kneading dough, and watching the sunrise outside the large front window.
As her belly grew and rounded under her apron, the fact that her child was coming became increasingly embedded in her bones.
She enjoyed little pleasures like picking out tiny clothes, folding soft blankets, and running her fingers over the crib she had assembled herself.
However, at night, when everything was silent, the shadows began to appear.
Would this tranquillity endure?
Or was it just a question of when the past would reappear?
She had decided to raise this child alone and never turn back.
Nevertheless, she had a deep-seated sense that fate wasn't done with her yet.
****
Pain. It took hours. Isabella experienced a sense of being caught in a never-ending storm, torn between pain and fatigue.
Then there was a cry. Sharp. demanding. alive.
As the doctor placed a small, warm bundle in Isabella's arms, she gasped and shook.
Her son.
Juan.
She looked at him with tears clouding her vision—the softest tuft of dark hair, delicate fingers, and rosy cheeks. He made a tiny sound as he wriggled, and she instinctively pulled him in.
Her voice broke as she whispered, "You're here."
Despite his small size, his tiny fingers curled around hers with strength. The burden of everything—Nolan, the past, the suffering—disappeared in that instant. Her son was all that mattered.
Her heart swelled as she kissed his forehead tenderly. "I'll love you enough for us both, Juan. I swear.
But a chill went through her as she looked into his storm-gray eyes.
They were Nolan's eyes.
And she would never really get away from him, no matter how far she ran.
*****
FOUR YEARS LATER
Nolan sat looking at the skyline from his office. Profits soared and deals closed with ease, making his empire stronger than ever. He had it all on paper.
Why, then, did everything seem... empty?
With a sharp exhale, he untied his tie.
Achieving success was meant to be rewarding.
Power kept him in control, and work kept him busy.
But lately, a strange restlessness troubled him , a whisper he can't seem to get rid of.
Something was missing
Or someone
His cell rang. Then the unsure voice of his assistant was heard.
"This is something you will want to see, sir."
A file landed on his desk.
A name
A location
And a secret he never saw coming.