Chapter 10 - Ten Candles Re-litOne year to the day after the hospital called, the rain tapped a gentle, rhythmic lullaby against the windows of my new penthouse apartment overlooking the Mississippi River.
There was no marble kitchen counter laden with fake perfection or forced traditions. Instead, the kitchen smelled of roasting garlic, fresh rosemary, and warm vanilla bean.
On the center island sat a single, beautifully imperfect chocolate sponge cake, dusted with powdered sugar and adorned with a single, bright golden candle.
Not ten candles. Just one.
Because life isn't measured by how many years you spend clinging to a lie; it’s measured by the moment you finally find the courage to start over.
Julian stood behind me, his arms wrapping gently around my waist, his chin resting softly on my shoulder as we watched the single flame flicker in the quiet room.
“What are we celebrating tonight?” Julian whispered against my ear, his breath warm and familiar.
I smiled, leaning back against his chest, placing my hands over his.
“A birthday,” I whispered back.
“Whose birthday?”
May you like
“Mine.”
I reached out, pinched the small golden wick between my fingers, and blew out the candle, watching the thin ribbon of white smoke rise gracefully toward the ceiling—leaving behind no darkness, only the clean, fresh scent of a brand-new day.
