The storm broke just as she stepped into the greenhouse, wind howling like a warning. He was already there, standing still among the broken pots and twisted vines, his eyes unreadable. For a long moment, neither spoke. Then she reached into her coat pocket—not for what he feared, but something smaller, folded. A photo.

He looked at it, and the weight of memory fell like thunder between them. His shoulders sagged. The silence shattered.

“I never meant for it to go this far,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving the door open behind her.