Several days had passed since the encounter at the market, yet the unease refused to loosen its grip on Elka. The memory of the servant's recognition lingered like salt on Elka's skin. She told herself it meant nothing. He was a single man in a crowded square, someone from another life who had probably moved on already. Still, the reassurance rang hollow.
She tried to return to the routine that had become her salvation. Each morning she rose with the sun, carried her bucket to the vegetable garden, and tended the plants she had coaxed from the soil with her own hands. Every time she passed by her flowers, she always stopped to stare at the stunning blooms.
The petals should have brought her the same pride they always did. Instead, her fingers trembled as she worked.
