Ella stood by the wide window of their Tagaytay house. Morning light spilled across the floor, caught the pink roses in the garden that Vincent had watered before sunrise. The air smelled like coffee and damp earth.
Her fingers found the bracelet on her wrist. Silver. A tiny heart charm. She rubbed it with her thumb the way she always did when she was thinking.
It was the first gift Vincent ever gave her, when she turned eighteen. It was also the last thing she wore on the night of their first wedding, before she left San Miguel without a word. And it was the thing Vincent slid back onto her wrist on the night of their second honeymoon, his hands shaking, his voice low.
So much had happened between those moments.
She remembered the garden of VincElla Hotel five years ago. The weddi
