19. Two months later

Lena's POV

I woke up slowly, stretching my arms above my head, and it hit me like a wave I hadn’t expected. Two months. Two months since I had left LA, since I had walked out of that life and the man I had loved. I rolled over on the bed in the little inn room, the sunlight spilling in through the curtains, soft and calm. The world outside felt quiet, almost peaceful. Quiet enough that I could hear my own heartbeat, steady and slow for once.

I sat up, hugging my knees, and thought back to about three weeks after I moved here. I had called Ethan’s parents then, just to let them know I was okay. I had promised to call them regularly, made them swear not to tell anyone where I was. They had been the only ones who knew I where I disappeared to, the only ones I trusted not to interfere. My mother-in-law’s voice on the other end of the line had been gentle, relieved. “We’re glad you’re safe, Lena. Just promise you’ll keep taking care of yourself.” I had promised, and I had kept that promise.

I swung my legs off the bed and stretched again. Even after two months, there was still a dull ache in my chest that didn’t go away, but it had softened somehow, becoming something I could carry instead of letting it crush me. I pulled on a sweatshirt and made my way to the café. Ruth was already there, humming as she tidied up the counters.

“Morning,” I said softly.

“Morning, kiddo,” she said without looking up. “How’s our newest resident? Still surviving?”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. I think so.”

By the time Jess and David arrived, I was already wiping down a table. Jess waved at me from the door, grinning like always. David followed quietly, and I noticed the way he looked at Jess. She blushed when his eyes landed on her, quickly looking away like she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t. I smirked quietly to myself, enjoying their interactions.

“Someone’s got a crush,” I teased softly when Jess rolled her eyes at David’s subtle staring.

Jess nudged me with her elbow. “Don’t even start, Lena.”

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in a long time. Even after everything, even after leaving Ethan, there were these little human moments that reminded me the world wasn’t just pain and loss.

We moved through the morning slowly, taking orders, washing dishes, and joking quietly about nothing in particular. I liked this rhythm. I liked the fact that I could be useful without worrying about lies, cheating, or heartbreak for a little while.

During a quiet lull, I poured myself some coffee and let my mind wander. Two months. It had gone by fast and slow at the same time. I had cried, I had laughed, I had worked harder than I thought I could. I had made friends, real friends, who didn’t judge me, who didn’t care about my past, who didn’t ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Ruth, Jess, and even David, in his quiet way, had become a small part of my life here.

I thought about Ethan, briefly, not with longing but with a strange, siltent ache. The life we had shared, the love we had had, it felt like it existed in a different world, like a story that belonged to someone else now. I missed him sometimes, yes, but I didn’t need him anymore to feel whole. I was building my own life, piece by piece, mistake by mistake, small victory by small victory.

I caught David staring at Jess again, and this time I smiled openly. It was easy to watch, easy to feel joy for someone else without it being complicated. Jess noticed too, blushing slightly, and I teased her, “You’re glowing.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, rolling her eyes but smiling.

Ruth laughed from behind the counter. “What are you two whispering about? Sounds like gossip. Save it for lunch.”

I laughed, moving over to help clean a table. The café smelled like coffee and bread and warm mornings. It was ordinary, simple, comforting. I liked it. I liked that it was mine too, in a way, even if I didn’t own it.

At the end of the morning, I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. The pier wasn’t crowded yet, just the soft lapping of water and the faint call of gulls. I felt the breeze on my face, letting it wash over me, and I realized something. Two months. I had survived two months. I had left everything I knew behind, and I had built something here. Small, fragile, imperfect, but mine.

I walked back inside and saw Ruth watching me from the counter, her expression soft and approving. “You’re doing well,” she said simply.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I think so.”

Jess and David were clearing a table together, laughing quietly. I leaned against the counter, watching them, and thought about how much had changed. How different everything was from the life I had left. And I liked it. I liked that I could breathe without guilt. I liked that I could laugh again without fear. I liked that I could survive without anyone controlling me.

When the lunch rush started, I moved into the chaos with a strange sense of pride. Each order I took, each plate I carried, every customer I smiled at, it all added up. It reminded me that I could do things on my own, that I could handle life without needing anyone else to save me.

At the end of the day, I closed the café, and Ruth handed me a small envelope. “Your paycheck,” she said with a grin. “You earned it. Be proud.”

I held it carefully, almost loveingly. Two months of work, two months of surviving, two months of learning to be me again. I tucked it into my bag and walked back to my room, feeling lighter than I had in a long time.

That night, I sat by the window, looking out at the quiet town, thinking about the last two months. About the friends I had made. About the life I was building. About the ache that still lingered, soft at the edges, for a man I had loved but could never go back to.

I opened my journal and wrote, careful and messy, like I had been doing since I arrived. I wrote about the café, about Ruth, about Jess and David. I wrote about how two months had changed me, about the small victories, the moments of laughter, the moments of quiet pride. I wrote about the hope I felt now, not a big hope, not a grand hope, but a small, human hope.

And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

I was surviving. I was learning. I was alive.