The morning sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Vanessa's kitchen.
She stood still, hands by her sides, lost in thought.
The quiet pressed around her, making the room feel smaller than it really was.
It had been five years. Her thoughts drifted back to one name.
Mark.
That bastard. Extremely evil and wicked.
Just thinking of him made something tighten in her chest. It was surprising how a single name could stir that much emotion. He had once meant everything to her, so loving and sweet.
She had trusted him with all her heart.
She had loved him so well that, if love were a physical being, it would have been Mark.
Until he betrayed her.
He broke her heart and shattered her.
That night. That terrible night. How could she ever forget?
She had gone to Mark's house expecting to spend the most lovely time in bed with her man. She had already recorded the most erotic scenes and wanted to display them with him in bed.
However, the moment she walked into the bedroom of the two-story mansion, her heart collapsed. At once, the scene became a blur.
Who was she?
That mistress underneath Mark, without clothes, on her soon-to-be matrimonial bed.
What made her weak was seeing Mark lost in the moment with her. Their legs were tangled together as they moaned softly, deeply immersed in lovemaking, completely unaware of another presence in the room.
It felt like a heavy punch to the chest.
Her throat tightened. Tears pricked her eyes before she could stop them.
For a long, frozen second, she just stared.
Mark had had his fill and decided to switch positions, only to discover Vanessa standing behind them. He sat upright, and the mistress scampered around to hide herself, knowing they had been caught.
What pained Vanessa the most was Mark's attitude. He felt no remorse. He was nonchalant, as though her presence was a disturbance. He did not even say a word. He only stared at her with anger.
"Who… who is she?" Vanessa spoke, but it felt like no words came out of her mouth.
The sight of the only man she had ever loved, extremely intimate with another strange woman, shattered her.
Just then, Mark jerked up, panting heavily.
"Ve… Vanessa," he said softly, not shocked, not surprised. "How did you get in?"
"Mark! How could you?" she barked, almost pulling down the roof of the building.
Without saying another word, she slammed the door and left the house with tears streaming down her face.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
And yet, through the pain, the betrayal, the humiliation, and the heartbreak, she could not stop thinking of him.
She loved him.
She had loved him with everything she had.
And that made the wound even deeper.
The next day, when she confronted him again, he did not flinch. He did not apologize. He did not offer even a shred of remorse.
He shrugged, as if that explained everything.
"I… I need space," he said. "Maybe it's better if we're done."
Her hands shook.
"Done? After this? After everything you just did?"
He did not look back.
No regret. No guilt. Nothing.
Just the cold, final edge of someone walking away from everything he had broken.
He was gone.
Leaving only the echo of what she had lost and the cruel truth that sometimes the person you love most can hurt you the most.
She cried and was broken for months.
But when the tears finally stopped, something unexpected remained. A quiet spark of strength. A determination she did not know she still had.
He might have taken her heart, but he would not take her will.
***
Vanessa stood in the middle of her restaurant kitchen, surrounded by sacks of flour, jars of vanilla, and the soft hum of the refrigerator.
This space was hers.
The beginning of everything she wanted to build.
She had saved every penny, borrowed a little from her aunt, and opened a small restaurant. Not the empire she dreamed of, not yet, but it was her first real step toward taking her life back.
Her gaze drifted to a framed photo of her grandmother.
***
Vanessa whispered, "I'll make you proud, Nana. One dish at a time."
The day passed faster than she expected.
One moment she was reaching for a measuring cup, and the next she was flipping something on the stove. Spices filled the air. Customers came, tasted her food, and left with soft, satisfied murmurs that lifted her heart more than she let on.
With every plate she served, she felt herself settling again.
Piece by piece, she was rebuilding.
By evening, her legs ached and her shoulders felt heavy, but it was the good kind of tired. The kind that reminded her she was creating something that belonged to her. Something no one could take away.
Vanessa was just about to lock the door when something on the floor caught her eye.
A small box.
Neatly wrapped.
A pale pink ribbon tied carefully around it.
A familiar cologne lingered on the packaging.
Her body went still.
She bent down and picked it up. No note. No name. Nothing.
But she did not need one.
Mark.
The name swept through her mind, sharp and unwelcome. Anger stirred in her chest, tangled with a tiny spark of curiosity she wished she did not have.
She wanted to drop the box, maybe even crush it, but she could not.
She carried it inside and set it on the counter.
"Why now?" she whispered, touching the ribbon.
She loosened the bow.
Inside was a porcelain teacup, small and delicate, painted with tiny roses. The exact design she had loved as a child.
She traced the rim slowly, feeling the tiny bumps of the paint.
He remembered.
Of course he did.
Old memories rushed in. Slow mornings. His laugh filling her kitchen. The comfort of tea shared between them.
Anger mixed with nostalgia, and somewhere deep inside, a soft ache she did not want to feel again.
She set the cup down and tried to steady her breath.
A quiet voice in her head whispered:
"He walked away.
He lied.
Don't open that door again."
Her phone buzzed suddenly, loud in the quiet room.
An unknown number.
It was a text.
"Vanessa… I know I don't deserve it, but can we talk? Please."
She froze.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. A flood of thoughts pushed into her mind. If she replied, would she fall right back into the chaos she had escaped?
No.
Not now.
Not when her heart still felt too fragile.
Mark had shattered her once. She was not handing him the pieces again.
She turned to the window.
Outside, life moved on. Cars passing. Lights glowing. People living.
The world did not know she was standing in the middle of a storm.
Vanessa reached for the teacup, poured herself some tea, and took a slow sip. The warmth spread through her chest, comforting, painful, familiar.
She had a choice. Let the past pull her backward, or keep building the future she had promised herself.
The storm was not over.
Mark's presence, no matter how faint, was a whisper she could not ignore.
And tomorrow…
Tomorrow could change everything