The return

Chapter One: The Return

The rain fell in sheets, softening the edges of the small coastal town that had once been her entire world. Elena Hart sat by the window of a quiet café tucked between a bookstore and a forgotten art gallery, stirring a cup of black coffee she had no intention of drinking.

Newport hadn’t changed much.

The streets still curved with the same lazy rhythm. The ocean still whispered its secrets to the shore. But she had changed—or at least, she told herself that every time the past clawed its way up her spine and made her breath catch.

The funeral was in two days. Her father was gone. And she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about it.

She hadn’t seen him in nearly four years. The man who raised her had been buried under his own bitterness after her mother left, and Elena had spent most of her life dodging his silence like it was a bullet. Still, his absence now left a strange emptiness. A space she didn’t want, but couldn’t ignore.

She stared out at the sidewalk, watching as people passed under umbrellas, their lives uninterrupted. She envied them. The simplicity. The anonymity. The luxury of not knowing what it felt like to return to a place full of ghosts.

Then the bell above the café door jingled.

She didn’t look up at first. The sound was common enough. But then the air changed—charged, heavy. Like static before a storm.

“Elena.”

Her name stopped her heart.

She turned her head slowly, every movement deliberate. And there he was.

Adrian Wolfe.

Seven years had done nothing to dull the impact of him. He stood in the doorway, rain clinging to his jacket, his dark hair damp and tousled. His eyes—those same storm-gray eyes—locked on her like she was the only person in the room.

“Elena,” he said again, softer now. Like he still couldn’t believe she was real.

Her breath caught. She tried to say something—anything—but all that came out was a whisper of his name. “Adrian.”

He walked toward her, slow and unsure, and when he sat across from her, the space between them felt like it would collapse under the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

“I didn’t know you were back,” he said finally.

“I’m not staying long,” she replied, eyes fixed on the chipped edge of her mug.

“Still running?”

The words cut sharper than they should have. She met his gaze, defensive. “I came back for my father’s funeral.”

“I know.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry, Elena.”

A pause stretched between them. Too long. Too quiet.

“You look the same,” he said.

She gave a bitter smile. “I don’t feel the same.”

“I didn’t think you’d come back. Not after…” He trailed off.

“After I left without a word?” she finished for him.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

She looked down at her hands. “I thought leaving would make it easier.”

“Did it?”

“No.” Her voice was barely audible.

He reached out—just slightly—and then stopped himself. “You should’ve let me say goodbye.”

“If I had, I wouldn’t have gone.”

And that was the truth. The one she’d never said out loud until now.

Adrian sat back, pain flickering across his features. “I waited for you, Elena. I waited a long time.”

Tears stung her eyes. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The silence returned, thicker this time. Outside, the storm surged, water pounding against the windows like a second heartbeat.

“I should go,” he said suddenly, standing. “This… seeing you… it’s harder than I thought it’d be.”

She stood too, unable to stop herself. “Adrian.”

He paused, one hand on the back of the chair.

“I never stopped loving you,” she whispered.

He turned then, fully, his eyes on fire. “Then why did you leave?”

The question hung between them, unanswered.

He didn’t wait this time. He walked out into the rain, and the door swung shut behind him with a dull, aching thud.

Elena sank back into her seat, heart racing, body trembling.

She had come home to bury her father.

Instead, she had unearthed every part of herself she thought she’d buried years ago—including the one that still belonged to Adrian Wolfe.