Months passed, and Anya's new life settled into a satisfying rhythm. The café thrived, quickly becoming a beloved neighborhood spot. Regulars came not just for the coffee and pastries but also for Anya's warmth and the welcoming environment she had created.
Still, as much as she had moved on, the past had a way of creeping back in. One rainy afternoon, as she cleaned tables after the lunch rush, the bell over the door jingled. Anya turned to greet the customer, but her smile froze when she saw who it was.
Victor.
He stood in the doorway, his hair damp from the rain, holding a bouquet of flowers. His familiar navy coat was slightly rumpled, and his expression was hesitant, almost nervous.
"Anya," he said softly, stepping inside.
She took a steadying breath, the initial shock giving way to a calm resolve. "Victor. What are you doing here?"
He set the flowers on the counter and looked around the café. "I heard about the café through some mutual friends. I wanted to see it for myself."
"Well, here it is," Anya said, her tone polite but distant. "You've seen it. Is there something else you need?"
Victor hesitated, his eyes searching hers. "I came to apologize. For everything."
---
They sat at a corner table, the flowers resting awkwardly on the counter. Anya folded her hands in her lap, watching Victor as he struggled to find the right words.
"I've had a lot of time to think," he began. "About what happened between us. About the way I treated you. I wasn't fair to you, Anya. I was selfish and blind to what I had."
Anya's gaze didn't waver. "Yes, you were. And it hurt. But I've made my peace with it."
Victor looked down at his hands. "I don't know if I have. I miss you, Anya. I miss us."
Her heart twisted at his words, but not in the way it once might have. There was no longing, no flicker of hope. Instead, she felt a quiet sadness—for the man she once loved and for the life they could never have.
"There is no 'us' anymore, Victor," she said gently but firmly. "You made your choice, and so did I. I'm happy now—happier than I've been in years. I don't regret leaving."
He nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. "I can see that. You're… different. Stronger."
"I am," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "And I deserve to be."
Victor stood, his movements heavy with resignation. "I won't bother you again. I just wanted you to know I'm sorry."
As he left, the bell jingled softly behind him. Anya watched him go, feeling a surprising sense of closure.
---
That evening, Caleb stopped by the café, as he often did after closing. He immediately noticed her pensive mood.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the counter.
Anya nodded. "Victor came by today."
Caleb's brows lifted in surprise. "What did he want?"
"To apologize, mostly. And maybe to see if there was still something between us."
"And?"
"And nothing," Anya said, smiling faintly. "I told him the truth—I've moved on."
Caleb studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Good. You deserve better."
His words warmed her, but it was the look in his eyes that stayed with her—the quiet admiration and unwavering support.
---
Later that night, Anya sat at her desk with her journal. She wrote:
"Victor came back today, but not for long. I thought it would stir up old feelings, but it didn't. I feel lighter now, as though I've finally let go of the last piece of the past. The life I'm building is enough—more than enough. And I'm ready for whatever comes next."
Closing the journal, she glanced out the window at the city lights. For the first time, facing the past hadn't felt like a setback but a confirmation that she was exactly where she was meant to be.