Chapter 70 The Shape Of Forgiveness

• The first snow arrived in the hush of dawn, blanketing the little town with soft white whispers. It clung to rooftops, nestled into the arms of bare trees, and dusted the windows of Three Sisters Bakery like powdered sugar on a forgotten holiday cake.
• Inside, the warmth was immediate—cinnamon in the air, laughter bubbling from the kitchen, and a soft tune playing on the radio. Emma stood at the counter, shaping loaves with strong, flour-dusted hands. Her motions were rhythmic, almost meditative. Beside her, Lila scribbled in a notebook, pausing every so often to tap the eraser against her lips.
• For the first time in weeks, there was quiet between them that didn’t ache.