Chapter 2: The Weight of Promises

The cottage smelled like damp wood and lavender, a stubborn leftover from Aunt Ruth's sachets tucked in every drawer. Nora dropped her duffel bag by the door, the thud echoing off the peeling wallpaper. She'd forgotten how small it was—barely a living room, a kitchenette with a chipped sink, and a bedroom that creaked under every step. But it was hers now, willed to her when Ruth passed last year, and it'd do for however long this fight took.

She kicked off her boots and padded to the window, peering out at the gray smear of the coast. The lighthouse was just visible, a stubborn spike against the horizon. Her chest tightened. Seeing Elias today had been a gut punch she hadn't braced for. That ring on his finger, the way he'd said "Leah" like it was a fact she'd have to swallow—it all churned in her gut like bad clams.

"Get it together," she muttered, turning away. She wasn't here for him. She was here for the lighthouse. That was it.

The kitchen table was buried under junk Ruth hadn't tossed—old newspapers, a cracked teapot, a tin box with a rusted latch. Nora sank into a chair and pried the tin open, expecting bills or recipes. Instead, she found letters. Dozens of them, yellowed and tied with twine, her name scrawled across the top envelope in Ruth's shaky hand.

Her breath caught. She slid the first one free, unfolding it carefully. Nora, my girl, it started. If you're reading this, I'm gone, and you're back. Don't let this place drown you. The rest was a ramble about the garden, the tides, the way the town clung to its ghosts. But tucked inside was a photo—her and Elias, 17 and sunburned, grinning on the lighthouse steps. She'd been wearing his oversized hoodie, and he'd had his arm slung around her, casual but tight, like he'd never let go.

The memory hit hard. That summer, they'd climbed the tower at midnight, drunk on cheap beer and each other. Up in the lantern room, with the beam sweeping the dark, he'd pulled her close and said, "If we're both single at 35, we're getting married. Right here." She'd laughed, kissed him, and said, "Deal." A pact. A stupid, perfect pact.

Now she was 34, and he was engaged. She tossed the photo onto the table, her throat burning. "Idiot," she said—to him, to herself, to the girl in the picture who'd believed in forever.

The town council meeting was at six, and she couldn't sit here stewing. She grabbed her coat and headed out, the wind biting at her cheeks as she trudged to the community hall. It was a squat brick building, packed with familiar faces—fishermen, shopkeepers, the same old busybodies who'd gossiped about her dad's debts a decade ago. She slipped into a back row, keeping her head down.

The council droned on about budgets and potholes until the lighthouse came up. "Demolition's set for April 15th," the chairwoman said. "Contractor's already on board. Any objections?"

Nora stood before she could second-guess it. "Me. I object."

Heads turned. Whispers rippled. The chairwoman—Mrs. Haskell, who'd once caught Nora and Elias sneaking into the movie theater—peered over her glasses. "Nora Calder? Didn't expect you back."

"It's worth saving," Nora said, voice steadier than she felt. "It's a landmark. A piece of us. I've got data—preservation grants, tourism stats. Give me a week to prove it."

Murmurs grew. Mrs. Haskell frowned. "We've got a tight timeline. Elias Hart's crew—"

"Elias can wait," Nora cut in, sharper than she meant. Eyes darted to the front, where Elias sat, arms crossed. He didn't turn, but his shoulders stiffened.

A woman stood then—blonde, pretty, maybe 30, with a smile that was all kindness. "I think Nora's got a point. History matters." She glanced at Elias, then back at Nora. "I'm Leah, by the way. Elias's fiancée."

The room blurred for a second. Nora nodded, forcing a "Nice to meet you" that tasted like ash. Leah sat, and the council moved on, but Nora barely heard it. She'd expected a rival, not a goddamn saint. When the meeting ended, Leah caught her at the door.

"Coffee tomorrow?" Leah asked, all warmth. "I'd love to hear more about your plan."

"Sure," Nora lied, because what else could she say? She bolted as soon as Leah turned away, the photo of her and Elias burning a hole in her mind.