Gwh sat beneath the porch eaves, listening to the rain. A small side table stood nearby, holding a steaming kettle, its old-fashioned spout hissing with the sound of boiling water.
Beside her rested an easel. In the misty drizzle of the southern countryside, she moved her brush in sweeping strokes, capturing the blurred, rain-soakedndscape in the distance.
Gradually, beneath her hand, the paper revealed a breathtaking scene-a portrait of the rain''s gentle mncholy.
When the painting reached a pause, she pulled the coals from beneath the kettle, and the soft bubbling faded away.
Every so often, she picked up her phone to check her messages. One after another, Hawthorne''s texts appeared. She read each in turn, deleting them as soon as she finished, until not a single one remained.
Gwh took a sip of tea and returned to her painting, her focus soplete it seemed as if nothing could disturb her calm.
But as the rising steam and rain came alive on the page, her interest suddenly vanished.
She set aside the half-finished painting and reached for her carving tools, carefully working on a new stamp. Yet no matter how she tried to distract herself, Hawthorne''s face lingered in her mind, impossible to banish.
Evening crept in, rainced wind slipping through the windows and bringing a damp chill. She cooked a simple supper-a couple of small dishes-and settled by the window for a quiet drink.
The whiskey she''d picked up from the old family-run shop at the street corner burned its way down her throat, sharp and unforgiving.
She''d barely swallowed a mouthful before it made her cough. Staring out at the rain-drenched world, Gwh felt a loneliness unlike anything she''d ever known.
Coming here again, without Hawthorne, had only cost her a little romance—or so she''d thought. In her heart, she''d expected peace.
That was why she''d chosen Greenvale in the first ce. For a mistake she''d made in her youth, she intended to spend a lifetime making amends.
With Hawthorne, she''d meant every word. She''d never loved anyone the way she loved him, but perhaps that sudden tenderness was exactly what had made her lose herself.
Once, she''d naively believed fate had brought her here, that she''d find someone in Greenvale who would love her back, who would bring sense of wholeness to her fractured life
s
Gwh drank again, feeling the sting as the liquor burned.
Yet again, she''d given her heart to the wrong person. Maybe this was her true fate
-to never find joy, to suffer the consequences of her choices.
Her thoughts grew hazy, drifting further away as she finished the bottle. The food
on the table went untouched.
Atst, she slumped forward, face pressed to the tabletop, motionless.
l.ne
Hawthorne found her thanks to a kindly older woman who offered to guide him. She''d assumed he was some long-awaited grandson, returning home to make the family proud As soon as he mentioned he was looking for someone she''d insisted on showing him the way. s
He''d asked for directions at every turn, following hints and half-rememberedndmarks, until he reached Gwh''s home.
The riverside vige was a ce where doors rarely locked and neighbors left belongings out without worry.
Everyone here loved to drop in on each other, and most houses had their doors wide open.
Gwh''s rented cottage was no exception.
She''d taken the whole ce for herself a little house with its own garden and now after drinking too much, had fallen asleep slurped over the table. s
Hawthorne paused in the doorway, his heart twisting as he saw how much weight she''d lost in the few days since they''dst met.
He stepped closer, catching the sharp scent of alcohol.
A white ceramic cupy tipped on its side, a trace of whiskey pooling on the wood,<fn81ce> ???? ????s? ???????s ?? F?ndNovel</fn81ce>
its heady aroma filling the air.
He frowned, troubled. She was alone, drinking hard liquor without even touching the food. Was she trying to destroy herself?