We never became a legend, just two people learning how to exist without apologizing for the scars we carried. Nora poured herself into the bakery, into each loaf and sugared crust, as if every batch proved she was still here, still choosing life. I watched her greet customers by name, watched her shoulders loosen, watched the flinch fade from her eyes when the door swung open too fast.

In time, she stopped asking if she was in the way. She started asking what we should bake tomorrow. I kept building tables and chairs, but now they had a place to belong—a warm shop that smelled like cinnamon and second chances. We aren’t a fairy tale; we are just two people who met at the edge of an ending and decided, quietly, to call it a beginning instead.