Chapter 15 - The Coastal Town of San Lucas
Three months later, the smell of salt spray and blooming bougainvillea replaced the suffocating scent of pine and antiseptic.
San Lucas was a sleepy, sun-drenched coastal town nestled against the cliffs of the Pacific Northwest, far enough from their old life to feel like a different planet. They lived in a small, whitewashed cottage with peeling paint and a wide wooden porch that overlooked a restless, crashing ocean.
The boy—now ten years old—spent his afternoons running barefoot along the rocky shoreline, collecting smooth sea glass and throwing flat stones across the tide pools. The scars on his fingers were faint now, thin white lines that only appeared when the weather turned damp.
He walked up the wooden steps of the cottage, his pockets heavy with shiny black pebbles, pushing open the screen door that squeaked in the exact same cheerful rhythm every single time.
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"Mom, look what I found in the cove!" he called out, dropping his treasures onto the kitchen counter.
Sarah stepped out of the back room, wiping her hands on a floral apron, her hair caught back in a loose clip. She looked healthier, her skin warmed by the coastal sun, her eyes bright with a genuine, unhurried peace.
