Shadows of Her Past
Dawn light filtered pale through the café’s front windows as Isabella fumbled to open the padlock on the front door. The hush of the empty Mocha Mist enveloped her, heavy and expectant. Last night’s confession—and its aftermath—hung in the air, thick as steam rising from a fresh espresso. She forced a deep breath, trying to push the ache aside, but the weight in her chest refused to budge.
Rosa arrived moments later, spotting her boss’s drawn face.
“You okay?” Rosa asked quietly, as Isabella placed a single shot into the tamper.
Isabella forced a nod. “Tired.” The word fell hollow.
Rosa studied her, eyes unwavering. But she grabbed a cloth and began polishing the counter, letting silence stretch between them. They both knew that silence could hold more truth than any confession.
A couple outside was arguing in low tones. Isabella paused mid-swipe, watching them through the glass. Their voices were muffled, but the frustration—sharp and familiar—brought a lump to her throat. She leaned closer, heart thudding, as a word filtered in: stay.
Something cracked open inside her. She inhaled, the scent of coffee and polished wood stirring a memory buried beneath years of routine and denial.
---
Trigger → Flashback Begins
She had been seven, standing on threadbare carpet, fingertips grazing the fabric’s frayed edge. Her parents were in the living room, voices raised—not full-blown shouting, but sharp enough to fracture the quiet.
They had been arguing about dinner: money, time, her father’s late nights as a freelance illustrator, her mother’s exhaustion threading words she couldn’t fully hear.
She remembered the smell of boiled carrots and garlic, the clank of their plates on the table, the odd lull when exhaustion replaced anger. Their raised voices bled into silence, leaving her hollow.
Her father’s once-gentle face had hardened, she remembered.
Her mother’s perfume—something like jasmine—stung her lungs.
She sank down in a corner, pressing legs to chest, hiding in plain sight. The fading argument pulsed. No one looked back. No one came for her.
She had learned then that silence kept her safe—avoiding conflict kept her harmless, kept her hidden, kept her loved.
---
Flashback Ends → Return to Present
The screech of the espresso grinder slammed her back into the present. She blinked, throat tight. The couple outside had stepped away, cooled by distance—much like her own fractured family.
She brushed the memory aside, the café’s air suddenly too bright. Rosa watched her, concern etched in gentle lines.
“Trigger?” Rosa guessed, voice soft. She slid a latte across the counter. “Here.”
Isabella touched the cup, felt the warmth beneath porcelain. She inhaled. “Just… memories.”
Rosa placed a hand over hers. “You're brave.” She nodded toward the grinder. “Don’t fill the shop with ghosts.”
Isabella lifted the cup and sipped. The sweetness grounded her, stitching a patchwork of present and past. She gave Rosa a grateful nod. They moved on together, though her heart still thudded.
---
## Early Afternoon: Planting Seeds
By midday, Mocha Mist hummed its familiar tune: customers streamed in for oolong, cappuccino, work meetings scribbled in margins. Yet Isabella felt unmoored—pulled between the comfort of steam and the edges of something she’d feared.
She answered Marco’s midday text—a reminder: soccer practice at five, dinner at seven. She found herself typing back: Need to talk tonight. Over coffee, after the shop? Her finger hovered. She deleted it. Too soon. Too raw.
She glanced at Jason’s notebook tucked behind the register. Would he wait? Did she dare send him away for now?
Rosa interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
“Boss, a word?” she said gently.
They stepped into the back room. Rosa shut the door softly, leaned against the wall. “You okay?”
Isabella exhaled. “I triggered a memory. My parents. Always arguing. I… I never felt safe speaking up.” Emma Woods’ note scrawled in margin: Silence holds power until it destroys you.
Rosa listened. “That’s heavy.”
Isabella closed her eyes. “I... I thought I fixed everything when I built this place. But maybe I just… buried it deeper.”
Rosa placed a hand on her shoulder. “Emotions aren’t broken things to fix. They’re rivers.” She squeezed. “Let them flow.”
A hopeful flicker lit inside Isabella—she gave Rosa a weak smile. “Thanks. I… I want to try. Tonight, with Marco.”
---
## Evening: Confrontation and Courage
That evening, as the sun dipped low, she lingered behind the counter, watching the golden light stain the café tables. Marco arrived earlier than usual, his breath warm against the cool door.
He shook off his coat and caught her eye. “Hey.” He hesitated, searching her face. “Ready?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
They closed the shop together, flipping off lights and chasing away shadows. The bell jingled once—twice—then stillness reclaimed Mocha Mist. It felt sacred.
She led him to a corner booth, nearest the window. The city outside flickered to yellow life; inside was quiet, private.
“Can we talk?” she asked, voice low.
He nodded. “Yes.” He folded his hands on the tabletop. “I’m listening.”
Her voice cracked. “I had a flashback today—my parents, always fighting. I was small, silent. I thought… I thought I was doing it right by being quiet.”
He reached across the table, touching her hand. “You were a child.”
She swallowed. “But it shaped me. And I… I think it shaped how I ran from conflict, how I… shut down.” Tears stung. She looked away. “Which led me here.”
His eyes softened, but she noticed the shadow behind them: fear. “But you came to me tonight.”
“Yes.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m trying. Not because I don’t regret everything before…but because I want to stop running.”
His thumb brushed her knuckles. “That means everything.”
Silence fell—rich and trembling. Between them lay shared relief and fragile hope.
But just as she felt the ground beneath her—
The door swung open. Jason stood there, notebook in hand, eyes unreadable. The café light didn’t catch him—his outline sharp against the evening smog outside.
He took a step in, and the low hum of possibility snapped tight around them all.