Rain arrived without warning.
It wasn't a dramatic thunderstorm, nor a heavy downpour—just a soft, persistent drizzle that blurred the edges of the morning. Elden Bridge looked like it had been brushed in watercolors. The sidewalks shimmered. The bookstore windows fogged. And inside The Hushed Hour, the world narrowed to the smell of paper, coffee, and rain.
Violet leaned on the counter, watching the drops streak across the glass.
"I love days like this," she said aloud, mostly to the cat curled in the display window.
He didn't respond—just yawned and stretched, king of the shop.
The bell chimed.
Adam walked in, umbrella askew, shoulders damp. "Well, the weather lied."
"You look like a disgruntled poet," she said, laughing.
"Fitting, considering I brought this." He pulled a folded flyer from his coat. "The Stay zine got invited to be featured at the county book fair next month."
Violet's eyebrows lifted. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
She took the flyer, reading it twice. "We'll have a table and everything?"
He nodded. "They want a reading, too."
Violet froze. "Like... in front of people?"
He smiled gently. "You don't have to. I will. But I think they'd love your voice."
She looked at the flyer again.
There was a time when the idea of reading her words out loud would've made her bolt. But now? Now, she felt something different.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Anticipation.
---
Later that day, Grace brought coffee and gossip.
"Tessa's already planning her Oscar speech," she said, handing Violet a latte. "For a community play."
"She'd thank her reflection and her reflection only," Adam added from behind the photo desk.
"Also, your mom called me," Grace said.
Violet paused mid-sip. "She what?"
"She wanted to ask what kind of flowers you liked. I told her sunflowers and lavender. Hope that was accurate."
Violet set down her cup. "She's... really coming."
"Tomorrow," Grace confirmed.
Violet stood still for a moment. "I don't know what to say to her."
"Say the truth," Grace said gently. "Say what you needed when you were sixteen. Or what you wish she'd said then."
Violet blinked back emotion. "That's a lot."
"So are you," Grace replied. "In the best way."
---
The following morning, the sun returned.
Violet wore a soft yellow dress and braided her hair like she used to in high school—something about the act felt grounding. Adam offered to close the store for her, and she didn't argue.
At noon, she stood outside the bookstore, heart thudding like a drum, waiting.
A silver car pulled up.
Her mother stepped out, smaller than Violet remembered, wearing a pale blue scarf and clutching a bouquet.
Lavender. And sunflowers.
They stood still for a moment—neither quite knowing what to do.
Then her mother said, "You look like yourself."
Violet almost cried right then.
Instead, she smiled. "You too."
---
They walked the bookstore slowly. Her mother trailed fingers over the spines of books, over the window display, over the little wooden sign near the counter that said You Are Allowed to Begin Again.
"This place..." her mother said. "It feels like you."
"It is."
They sat in the reading nook. Violet poured two mugs of tea and placed the bouquet in an empty vase near the register.
"I didn't know how to be soft with you," her mother said finally. "I thought if I was strict, you'd be strong."
Violet listened.
"I was wrong. You didn't need strength. You needed safety."
Tears slipped down Violet's cheeks before she realized she was crying.
"I needed you," she whispered.
Her mother reached for her hand. "I'm here now."
---
That evening, Violet walked home alone.
She needed the quiet, the slow return to herself. The rain had returned, barely more than mist, softening the edges of everything.
She reached the witness tree.
The heart was almost gone now.
But something new had started to grow—a tiny vine curling at the base, green and stubborn.
She placed her hand on the bark.
"You don't have to be perfect," she whispered. "You just have to be here."
---
Adam was waiting at home with candles lit and dinner warming in the oven.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
Violet stepped into his arms.
"I told the truth," she said. "And she listened."
They sat at the table, knees touching under the wood, music low in the background.
"Do you think people really change?" she asked.
"I think people remember who they are," Adam said. "And sometimes, that's the change."
Violet reached for her journal after dinner.
"Healing isn't linear. But neither is love. Some days we're broken. Some days we're brave. Some days we're both. And all of them are worthy."
She left the page open, let the ink dry.
And outside, the rain fell like a blessing.
---