Abigail descended the stairs slowly. The petals led her all the way down, soft against her bare feet, guiding her toward something that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
And then she saw it.
A table was set in the middle of the living area, draped in white linen and surrounded by flickering candles. A simple dinner waited at its center.
Two glasses. Two plates. A small vase with a single rose stood between them. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was beautiful in its quiet simplicity. Thoughtful and tender.
Her breath caught.
For a moment, her heart fluttered wild and disoriented. The kind of flutter that comes when something inside you dares to hope again, even when you’ve sworn not to. She hadn’t expected this. Not the candles, not the flowers, not the man who once shattered her heart
