She didn't waste a second. She finished cleaning Samuel's room with quiet care, her movements deliberate, almost ceremonial. The bedsheets whispered under her hands as she smoothed them flat, chasing away even the smallest wrinkle. She aligned the pillows so precisely they looked like they were standing to attention, and arranged everything on the dresser in neat, exact lines. It wasn't just tidying—it felt like a small act of respect, maybe even gratitude.
The oversized blue T-shirt she wore—Samuel's, the cotton softened to silkiness after years of washing—brushed against her knees with every step. It carried a faint scent of detergent, and beneath that, something warmer, something that belonged only to him.
Her hair was tied loosely into a bun, but wisps had escaped, curling against her cheeks as she moved. A dust mote floated lazily in the air, lit by a stray beam of sunlight spilling in through the window. The room itself felt still, peaceful… the kind of stillness right before music starts, when you know something is coming but the world hasn't moved yet.
Whatever had happened the night before lingered faintly in her thoughts, like a half-forgotten melody, leaving a fragile smile ghosting her lips. For the first time in far too long, there was a flicker inside her—a fragile but unmistakable glimmer of peace. Maybe even hope.
In the kitchen, morning sunlight poured through the small square window above the sink, flooding the tiled floor with gold. The air was warm and faintly scented with the sea breeze that drifted in from somewhere beyond the walls. She moved with an easy rhythm, her hands remembering the motions of chopping, stirring, measuring, without having to think. Cooking always grounded her—it was something she could control.
Halfway through stirring a simmering pot, the thought struck her like an uninvited guest—she hadn't spoken to Victoria in… how long? A month? Maybe longer.
Drying her hands on a soft, faded dish towel, she reached for her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her thumb hesitated over a few names she no longer had the courage to call. Then it stopped on the one that mattered most.
Victoria.
They'd met years ago, two girls in aprons and cheap sneakers, trading jokes over clattering plates in a cramped restaurant kitchen that smelled like garlic and ambition. The friendship had stuck like glue through everything—the good shifts, the bad shifts, and the nights when tips barely covered the bus fare home. Victoria was the only one who knew Stephanie's most closely guarded truth—her pregnancy.
The line rang three times before a groggy voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Vic!" Stephanie's voice softened with relief, almost warmth. "You haven't called me in a week. Are you still mad at me?" She made it sound like a joke, but under the humor was a thin, fraying thread of worry.
"Mad? No," Victoria said, muffling a yawn. "I just got back yesterday. Haven't even unpacked yet. I was exhausted."
Stephanie leaned her hip against the counter, the weight in her chest easing just a little. "Where are you now? Home?"
"No, not yet," Victoria replied, and something in her tone sharpened—just slightly. "What about you? Don't tell me you went back to that house."
Stephanie laughed under her breath, a low, knowing sound. "Come on, give me some credit. I'm not that foolish." A pause, then softer, almost cautious: "I'll send you my address. Come visit if you can. There's a lot we need to talk about."
The conversation lingered for a few more minutes—familiar, comfortable. Like slipping on a jacket you'd forgotten still fit perfectly. When Stephanie finally ended the call, her kitchen didn't feel so empty anymore. She stirred the pot again, letting the rich aroma of spices bloom into the air, wrapping around her like a shield.
---
Meanwhile, across town, the newly opened pizza restaurant was already humming. Samuel was elbow-deep in work beside Simon, the pair moving in quiet sync. The place still carried the scent of fresh paint and varnish, the tables and counter gleaming under strips of morning light.
"I didn't expect you in this early," Simon remarked without looking up, his knife moving in quick, clean arcs through a line of green peppers.
Samuel grinned, tearing open a box of fresh mozzarella. "We opened yesterday. If I roll in late now, what does that say? I'm the boss—I set the tone."
"Right, boss," Simon replied, giving a mock salute with his knife before his voice settled into something more thoughtful. "How's Stephanie?"
Samuel's hands paused over the cutting board for just a fraction of a second. "She's… alright. She's trying. Being here gives her room to breathe."
Simon nodded, eyes still on his work. "She's lucky to have you watching her back."
Samuel only gave a short nod, his expression unreadable, before the two men returned to the steady rhythm of prep work.
The hum of refrigerators, the metallic click of pans, and faint music from the kitchen radio blended into a comforting background noise. Staff began to trickle in—tying aprons, setting up stations, and wiping down counters. That's when Samuel's phone buzzed. Stephanie's name lit the screen.
"Hey, Steph," he answered quickly. "Everything okay?"
"Yes. My friend Victoria wants to see me. I gave her the address. Please don't be mad—she's the only friend I have here. Can she come?"
"Of course," Samuel said without hesitation. "I didn't bring you here to cage you in. I'd like to meet her. Ask her to wait until I get back."
"No, I'd rather stay in. Safer that way."
"Alright. Whatever you need."
The call ended, and he immediately dialed Raymond.
"Another gate pass, Ray," Samuel said.
"You're impossible," Raymond groaned. "Get it from management."
"I'll sort it later. Just this one last time."
---
At the seaside estate's gate, the midday sun was merciless, pressing heat down like a physical weight. Victoria stood with her arms crossed, sweat tracing a path down her back, her patience wearing thinner than the sliver of shade offered by the security booth.
Stephanie appeared a moment later, breathless, her sandals slapping against the pavement. "She's here to see me," she told the guard, motioning to Victoria.
"Sorry, miss. No entry without a valid pass. Policy."
"I'm right here with her!" Stephanie's voice rose, frustration sharpening the edges.
"I understand, but I can't bend the rules," the guard replied, his face giving nothing away.
Victoria's silence was louder than any argument, her expression an unreadable mask.
Stephanie's phone rang. She snatched it up.
"I've sent the code," Samuel's voice came through, calm and certain. "Check your messages."
She showed the verification to the guard, who studied it, then finally stepped aside.
Victoria strode through without a word, the heat clinging to her like a second skin.
"I'm so sorry," Stephanie murmured as they walked down the shaded path toward the house.
"Forget it," Victoria said evenly. "Let's just go inside."