บททั้งหมดของ The Last Light Between Us: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Elena Reyes had lived in Bellweather her entire life. She knew every street, every shortcut, every cracked sidewalk, and almost every secret the town had tried to keep hidden. She knew which bakery sold the best cinnamon rolls before sunrise, which fisherman always came home late, and which old woman complained whenever teenagers sat on the harbor wall. She knew the lighthouse better than most people did. And she knew that Mara Vale was going to be trouble. Not the dangerous kind. The complicated kind. Three days had passed since their first meeting, and Elena had already seen enough to confirm her suspicion. Mara was stubborn. Very stubborn. She had spent the entire first day inspecting the lighthouse with a clipboard in one hand and a measuring tape in the other. She had complained about the broken windows, the damaged stairs, the outdated wiring, and the fact that someone had painted over part of the original stonework years ago. That someone, Elena suspected,

The morning after the storm, Bellweather looked as if nothing had happened. The streets were wet, the trees were dripping, and small puddles reflected the pale morning sky. Fishermen were already returning to the harbor, and the bakery had opened before sunrise. But for Mara, everything felt different. She couldn't stop thinking about the lighthouse. Or Elena. Especially Elena. She arrived at the restoration site earlier than usual, hoping to distract herself with work. It didn't work. Every time she looked at the staircase, she remembered Elena standing at the top during the storm. Every time she heard rainwater dripping from the roof, she remembered the quiet conversation they'd shared. And every time she closed her eyes, she remembered Elena looking at her as though she was trying to say something. Mara sighed. “This is ridiculous.” “You're talking to yourself again.” Mara turned. Elena stood in the doorway holding two cups of coffee. Mara smiled despite herself. “

For the next few days, Mara and Elena existed in the strange space between what they had been and what they might become. They still worked together. They still argued about paint colors, restoration details, and whether coffee should contain enough sugar to qualify as dessert. But something had changed. Every glance lasted a little too long. Every accidental touch felt deliberate. And every silence between them seemed to carry a question neither woman was brave enough to ask. Mara tried to focus on the lighthouse. It was almost finished. The cracked windows had been replaced. The rusted staircase had been repaired. The walls had been restored, and the old wooden floorboards had been polished until they caught the afternoon light. Only one major piece remained. The lamp. The heart of the lighthouse. Mara stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, looking up. “I'll finish the lamp tomorrow,” she said. Elena leaned against the railing. “You said that yesterday.” “I was

Northbridge was everything Mara thought she wanted. The buildings were taller. The streets were busier. The architecture firm occupied three floors of a glass building overlooking the city, and every morning, Mara walked through its doors surrounded by people who spoke the same language she had spent years learning. Preservation. Design. History. Possibility. Her new colleagues were talented, ambitious, and constantly moving. There were meetings about old theaters, museums, government buildings, and historic homes. There were deadlines. Presentations. Late nights. Everything she had once imagined her life would become was waiting for her in Northbridge. And yet, something was missing. At first, Mara refused to admit what it was. She told herself she simply needed time to adjust. She told herself she was tired. She told herself she was distracted because the projects were demanding. But every evening, when she returned to the small apartment the firm had arranged for

One year later, the lighthouse no longer felt abandoned. Every morning, people came through its doors. Children attended art classes in the old keeper's room. Local artists displayed their work along the restored walls. On weekends, musicians performed near the windows overlooking the sea. The lighthouse had become everything Mara and Elena had hoped it could be. A place for people to create. A place for people to gather. A place where old stories could become new ones. And every evening, just before sunset, the light came on. Mara had her own small office on the second floor. She still worked with the architecture firm in Northbridge, traveling when necessary and taking on restoration projects throughout the region. But she always came home. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to. Elena's bookstore had changed too. The little shop had expanded into a cozy bookstore café, with secondhand tables, plants by the windows, and handwritten recommendations tucked betwe