Be My Woman Olivia

The train hissed as it pulled into Rosebay, its brakes shrieking like they too regretted stopping.

Olivia Summers stepped off with a single suitcase and a heart full of silence. Ten years gone, and still—every streetlight, every chipped bench, every whispering wind off the sea—felt like it remembered her.

She didn’t look back at the train. She didn’t look up at the sky.

She just walked forward, into the town she once called home and into the memories she’d tried for too long to bury.

The streets hadn’t changed. The bakery still had white paint peeling from its awning. The church bell still rang at noon. And Petals & Posies, her grandmother’s flower shop, still sat at the corner of Willow and Main like it had been waiting for her return.

She stood in front of it for a long moment.

The windows were dusty, the hanging sign faded. The “Closed” notice was still taped to the door—weathered and curling. A gust of wind rattled the frame.

This was hers now.

Her grandmother had left her everything. The house. The shop. The silence between.

What Olivia hadn’t expected was the wave of guilt that crashed over her the second she turned the key.

Inside, the shop was thick with the smell of dried lavender and neglect.

Dust clung to every surface. The shelves sat empty like forgotten promises. But beneath the disrepair, Olivia felt it—that soft, sacred pulse of something once beautiful.

She pressed her hand to the old cash register and whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

She didn’t cry at the funeral.

She didn’t cry when she packed her apartment in the city.

But here, in the flower shop where she used to make daisy chains and press violets in books, she sank to the floor and let the grief finally come.

She moved like a ghost through the rest of the day—unpacking one suitcase, opening only the kitchen cupboards, avoiding the upstairs bedroom with its lace curtains and memories of her grandmother’s perfume.

She didn’t touch the office.

Didn’t even open the door.

The ache in her chest had a name, but she refused to speak it. Not yet.

The next morning, the sun spilled over Rosebay like honey.

Olivia pulled her coat tighter and headed toward the town clerk’s office to sign the final estate documents. The woman behind the desk, smiling politely, handed her a pen and a few pages.

“You’re staying for a while?” the clerk asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Olivia replied.

“Lucas will be glad to hear you’re back,” the woman added casually. “He helped your grandmother a lot the past few years.”

Olivia stiffened.

She hadn’t heard that name in years. Hadn’t let herself think it.

Lucas Hale.

Her teenage best friend. Her almost-everything. The boy she’d kissed under the pier and left behind without a single goodbye.

She swallowed. “Is he still in town?”