Novel-novel oleh Frankie.O

The sun rose gently on the morning of the book launch, casting golden light across Emma’s writing studio. The windows were slightly open, letting in the fresh scent of spring budding blossoms, damp earth, and new beginnings. Today wasn’t just the release of her second book; it marked the closing of a chapter she had written with her heart.She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of her pale blue dress. No longer did she hide behind black and gray. Today, she chose softness. Joy. She wore a tiny silver pen on a chain a gift from Lila. Her heart beat fast, but there was no fear. Only excitement.Lila peeked into the room, beaming. “You look like a real author, Mom.”Emma laughed softly. “I guess I am.”The town library was filled. Not just with people but with warmth. Neighbors, survivors, readers, old friends. Even strangers from out of town. Some came for curiosity. Others for courage.Jake greeted people at the door with that gentle confidence of his. He looked at Emma

The first snowfall came like a whisper soft, unannounced, and stunning. Emma woke to the hush that only snow could bring, the world outside her window wrapped in white.She brewed a cup of tea and stood in the doorway of her writing studio, the steam warming her hands as she watched flakes drift and settle. In the silence, she felt a shift not a dramatic one, but gentle. A nudge. A breath from the universe.Lila squealed from the yard, already bundled in pink, making angel shapes in the snow. Jake followed, a shovel in one hand, a grin on his face.Emma smiled and pulled on her boots.The three of them spent the morning outside. Lila insisted on building not one, but two snowmen—one for her, one for Emma’s new book. "He needs a writing buddy," she said. Emma gave the snowman glasses and a crooked pen made from a twig. Lila named him Bernard.Inside later, as Lila napped and Jake sketched out plans for a new project, Emma sat at her desk and opened her laptop. She stared at the blinkin

Emma sat in her writing nook, a cup of tea cooling beside her, the last golden light of evening spilling across the desk. In her hands was a worn envelope one of many she’d kept tucked away in a wooden box carved with roses. The letters inside were written to herself.She had started the practice in therapy. A way to process. A way to speak to the parts of her that still trembled or doubted or ached. She hadn’t opened them in over a year.Now, with her memoir complete, her story out in the world, and her days full of a life she once thought unreachable, Emma felt ready to revisit the words of a woman still healing.She opened the first letter, dated three years ago.Dear me,I know you're afraid. I know everything feels fragile, like you’re walking on cracked ice. But if you’re reading this later, it means you made it through something. It means you’re still here. Don’t forget that.Tears pricked at her eyes, but they didn’t fall. She smiled, folded the letter again, and set it aside.

Emma stepped into the bookstore like she was entering a chapel. The bell above the door chimed softly, and the familiar scent of old pages and new bindings wrapped around her like a blanket. Jake and Lila followed behind her, their footsteps quiet on the wooden floors.A table near the entrance displayed the new releases. Front and center, stacked in neat rows, was her book.The Language of Quiet.Her name below the title shimmered faintly in the morning light streaming through the windows.She reached out slowly and picked up a copy, feeling the smooth cover under her fingertips. It was heavier than she expected not in weight, but in meaning.Jake touched her shoulder. “You okay?”Emma nodded. “It’s just real now.”“Wasn’t it already?”“Yes. But now other people can hold it too.”Lila tugged on her coat. “Can we read the part about the chickens again?”Emma laughed softly. “I think that’s in chapter eleven.”The store owner came over, a woman in her sixties with silver hair and brigh

The morning mist clung low to the valley. Emma sat on the porch swing, her notebook open across her lap, though she hadn’t written a word yet. A mug of tea steamed gently beside her, untouched.She was watching Lila chase the chickens, her laughter dancing in the air. Jake knelt by the greenhouse’s raised beds, turning the earth. The whole world felt suspended in a kind of tender quiet the kind that followed understanding.Inside her chest, Emma held that quiet like a new language she was still learning.She finally picked up her pen.“There’s a moment in healing when you realize you’re no longer escaping your past you’re building your future.”Jake joined her after breakfast, wiping his hands on a towel.“You haven’t said much this morning,” he said.Emma closed her notebook. “I’ve been listening.”“To what?”She looked at him and smiled. “Everything. The birds, the wind, the sounds you only hear when you stop trying to make your own.”Jake sat beside her. “That’s something you taugh

Emma stood beneath the sky the morning after her return, the stars still visible in the deep blue above. It felt like breathing for the first time in days fresh air, silence, peace. She let her boots crunch through the snow as she made her way to the greenhouse where Jake had been working through her absence.The skeletal frame stood tall now, wood beams perfectly aligned. She reached out and touched one, running her gloved fingers across the grain.“You built this while I was gone?” she asked, turning to see Jake standing behind her with a thermos in his hand.He smiled. “Had to keep busy. Missed you too much otherwise.”Emma took the thermos, sipping the hot coffee, grateful for its warmth.“I didn’t realize how loud the city was,” she said.Jake nodded. “That kind of noise doesn’t just come from traffic.”“No. It’s like… everyone’s searching for something, but no one knows what it is.”“And you?”Emma looked at him, thoughtful. “I was searching for what I’d already found.”Jake tou

The estate was quiet again. For the first time in weeks, there were no reporters at the gates, no investors hounding Gabriel’s every step, no whispered threats echoing in the corridors. The battles had been fought, Joana’s schemes dismantled, Patricia’s influence weakened. And yet, the silence carried a weight Lucy couldn’t ignore.She walked through the grand hall with bare feet, the cool marble grounding her as she trailed a hand along the polished oak banister. The house that had once felt like a cage now hummed with a different energy expectant, almost watchful, as though it too knew something had shifted.Gabriel was in the library, of course. That room had become his refuge, and by extension, hers. She paused at the doorway before entering.He was seated at the massive walnut desk, sleeves rolled up, a tumbler of untouched scotch beside him. Papers lay scattered, but his eyes weren’t on them. They were far away, fixed on the dying fire.“Gabriel,” Lucy said softly.His gaze lift

The jet descended into Madrid beneath a gray morning sky, the horizon smudged with clouds that threatened rain. Lucy sat by the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Beside her, Gabriel looked outward but saw nothing, his jaw set, his silence heavy.As the wheels touched the runway, a ripple of unease washed through her. Madrid was Gabriel’s empire in many ways the nerve center of his companies, the heart of his influence. But today, it felt hostile, poisoned by Joana’s lies.When they stepped from the plane, the flash of cameras was immediate. Reporters pressed against the barricades, their shouts carrying across the tarmac.“Señor Fernandez! Are the allegations true?”“Lucy, did you know about the offshore accounts?”“Is your marriage just for power?”Lucy flinched at the barrage of questions. Security formed a barrier around them, ushering them swiftly into the waiting cars. Still, the shouts echoed in her ears long after the doors shut and the chaos was muted to a distant

The first light of dawn spilled across the hills outside the estate, painting the vineyard in hues of gold and soft rose. Lucy stood by the balcony of their bedroom, her bare feet pressing lightly into the cool marble, her hair loose and tumbling past her shoulders. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of wet earth and the faint sweetness of grapevines.Behind her, Gabriel stirred awake. He had fallen asleep later than she had she knew it from the shadows beneath his eyes, from the way his hand instinctively sought her even in sleep. She turned when she heard the rustle of sheets, and their eyes met.“You’re awake,” she whispered, smiling faintly.His voice was thick with sleep, low and rough. “Only because you’re not in bed.”She laughed softly, the sound easing the silence. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked… peaceful.”He sat up, his tousled hair catching the light. “Peaceful,” he repeated, as though testing the word on his tongue. “That’s rare for me.”Lucy walked back toward

The estate had never felt so silent.Lucy sat by the open window of the east wing, watching as dusk bled across the vineyards, the sky softening into purples and gold. The cicadas had begun their evening song, and somewhere in the distance, the fountain’s trickle echoed faintly, a rhythm against the hush. It was in these moments unburdened by interruptions, untouched by enemies that she could breathe.And yet, the quiet wasn’t loneliness. It was anticipation.She turned her head slightly as she heard Gabriel’s footsteps approaching before she saw him. She had grown used to the cadence of his movements, the deliberate steadiness of his stride. It was strange, she thought, how even the sound of him walking toward her had become its own kind of reassurance.When he entered the room, he didn’t speak at once. He merely stood in the doorway, watching her with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and there was something almost unguarded abou

The morning sun spilled over the rolling hills of the vineyard, painting everything in hues of amber and gold. Rows upon rows of grapevines stretched like ribbons across the land, glistening with dew. It was harvest season, and though workers would soon arrive to gather the fruit, the early hours belonged only to Gabriel and Lucy.Lucy strolled down the narrow path between the vines, her fingertips brushing against the leaves. She breathed in the crisp air, tinged with earth and sweetness, and felt a calm she had never known in her old life. No clattering heels of her stepmother, no hushed whispers of betrayal only silence, broken by the hum of bees and the soft rhythm of Gabriel’s footsteps beside her.“You’re smiling,” Gabriel said, his deep voice colored with amusement.“Am I?” Lucy looked up at him, surprised.“Like someone who’s finally allowed to.”She tilted her face back to the sky, letting the sunlight kiss her skin. “Maybe I am. I didn’t realize how heavy my life had become

The storm outside had passed, leaving the estate wrapped in the kind of silence that felt rare, almost sacred. The gardens glistened beneath the moonlight, droplets of rain catching the silver glow as if the night itself were strung with jewels. From their bedroom window, Lucy watched the soft shimmer, her reflection faint in the glass.Behind her, she felt Gabriel’s presence before she heard him. The rustle of his shirt, the quiet sound of his breath as he approached. He didn’t speak at first, simply slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin against her shoulder.“You’ve been standing here a long time,” he murmured.Lucy leaned into him, exhaling slowly. “I needed the quiet. After her… after everything, I just needed to remember what peace feels like.”Gabriel’s hold tightened. “Does it feel like this?”She smiled faintly at the window, her own reflection softened by the moonlight. “Yes. Like this.”They stood together, watching the rain drenched night in silence. It was