Chapter 4 — Brushstrokes of Memory

Sophie

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall pines surrounding the guesthouse, casting shifting patterns of gold onto the overgrown wildflowers. Sophie stood in the doorway, her charcoal-smudged fingers gripping a steaming mug of tea. She sipped slowly, savoring the quiet—the sort of silence that only existed in the hours before the world stirred fully awake. The air carried a crispness that hinted at autumn’s approach, mingling with the faint briny tang of the nearby ocean. It was a far cry from the city’s relentless noise, and for the first time in years, Sophie felt herself exhaling into the stillness, as though Pine Cove itself were coaxing her to let go of the tension she carried like a second skin.