The morning after the gala was gray and cold, like a heavy blanket over everything.
Gaesha sat in her bakery, all alone, with the lights turned off.
Her green dress from the night before hung on a chair, crumpled and sad-looking.
She hadn't slept a wink—Claire's harsh words kept spinning in her mind, over and over. "Provincial." "Mess." "Kent deserves more."
Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her hands shook as she held a pen, trying to steady herself.
Gaesha had thought she'd be okay after Kent comforted her on the way home last night.
She'd hoped she could push forward, forget what Claire said at the gala, and just move on.
But now, sitting in the quiet bakery, the pain came rushing back, sharp and heavy.
It felt like a weight on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
"I'm not enough," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "Not for him. Claire's right."
She reached for a piece of paper, the kind she always used for notes, and started writing.
Her handwriting was messy, the ink smudged with tears that fell as she wrote.
"Kent," she scribbled. "You deserve perfection, and I'm a mess. I'm sorry. —Gaesha."
She stared at the words for a long time, her heart aching.
Then she folded the paper tightly, pressing it between her fingers as if it could hold all her hurt.
The bell above the bakery door jingled, startling her. Mia walked in, her curly hair wild and tangled from the windy morning.
"Gaesha?" she said, her voice soft but worried. "You okay? You look awful."
"No," Gaesha replied, her voice small and shaky. "I'm not."
Mia pulled up a chair and sat across from her, her eyes full of concern.
"What happened?" she asked. "Was it the party?"
"Yeah," Gaesha said, staring at the table. "Claire—Kent's ex—she called me provincial. Right in front of everyone. They all laughed."
"What?" Mia's eyes widened, and her voice got loud. "That's so mean! What did Kent do?"
"He stood up for me," Gaesha said, her voice softening as she thought of him. "But it didn't help. I still feel… small. Like I don't belong."
"You're not small," Mia said firmly, leaning forward. "She's just a jerk."
"Maybe," Gaesha said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But she's right. I'm a mess. Kent's too good for me."
"No way," Mia said, shaking her head. "He likes you. A lot. You can see it in his eyes."
"He shouldn't," Gaesha said, her voice breaking. "He deserves someone better. Someone like her."
"Her?" Mia scoffed, crossing her arms. "Claire? She's cold as ice. You're warm, Gaesha. That's why he picked you."
"Not anymore," Gaesha said, holding up the folded note. "I'm done."
Mia frowned, her brows knitting together.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the paper.
"A note," Gaesha said, her fingers tightening around it. "For Kent. I'm ending things."
"Ending what?" Mia said, confused. "You two aren't even official yet!"
"We're something," Gaesha said, her voice heavy. "Or… we were. I can't do it, Mia. I'm not enough for him."
"You are enough," Mia said, her voice strong. "Don't do this, Gaesha."
"I have to," Gaesha said, her eyes filling with tears again. "He's perfect. I'm… just me."
"You're perfect for him," Mia said, reaching across the table to touch her hand. "He kissed you, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Gaesha said, a small, sad smile crossing her face as she remembered. "And I loved it. But Claire's right. I don't fit in his world. I'm not fancy or polished like her."
"His world is you now," Mia said, her voice gentle but firm. "Don't give up on this."
"I'm not giving up," Gaesha said, shaking her head. "I'm letting go. For him. So he can have someone better."
Mia let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping.
"You're so stubborn," she said. "Where are you taking that note?"
"His work," Gaesha said, her voice flat. "I'll leave it there."
"Don't," Mia said, her eyes pleading. "Just talk to him. Tell him how you feel."
"No," Gaesha said, her voice cracking. "I can't. He'll see me cry again, and I can't stand that."
"He'd want to see you," Mia said. "He cares about you. He'd want to know you're hurting."
"I know he cares," Gaesha said, her voice barely a whisper. "That's why I'm doing this. He deserves more than me."
Mia shook her head, looking frustrated. "You're wrong," she said. "But I can't stop you."
"Thanks," Gaesha said, standing up and grabbing her coat from the hook by the door. "I'll be back."
She stepped outside and walked toward the chateau site where Kent worked.
The air was damp and chilly, and her shoes got wet as she stepped in puddles along the way.
Her heart felt heavy, like it was sinking deeper with every step.
When she reached the site, she saw Mark standing by the gate, his jacket zipped up against the cold. She waved, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Hey," she said, but her tone was flat, lifeless.
"Gaesha!" Mark said, smiling at first, but his face fell when he saw her. "Hi! You okay? You don't look so good."
"No," Gaesha said, shaking her head. "I'm not. Can you give this to Kent, please?"
Mark took the folded note, looking at it curiously. "What's this?" he asked.
"Just… something," Gaesha said, her voice trembling. "Don't tell him it's from me. Not yet."
"Okay," Mark said, his brow furrowing. "You sure about this?"
"Yeah," Gaesha said, forcing a small nod. "Thanks."
She turned and walked away, her heart feeling heavier than ever.
The note was out of her hands now, and it felt final, like a door closing.
Back at the bakery, she locked the door behind her and sat in the dark, the silence pressing in around her.
"It's done," she whispered to herself. "He's free now."
Her phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with Kent's name. She stared at it, her heart twisting painfully in her chest.
She wanted to answer, to hear his voice, but she couldn't. Not now. Not after the note.
She reached out, her fingers hovering over the phone, then pulled back and turned it off.
"No," she said, her voice shaking. "I can't."
Later, there was a knock at the door.
"Gaesha?" Mia's voice called from outside. "Open up, please."
Gaesha sighed and unlocked the door, letting Mia in. "What?" she said, her voice tired.
"You're hiding," Mia said, stepping inside and crossing her arms. "You need to talk to him."
"No," Gaesha said, shaking her head. "It's over, Mia."
"It's not over," Mia said, her voice firm. "He'll fight this. You know he will."
"He won't," Gaesha said, her voice dull. "He'll read the note and see I'm right."
"You're not right," Mia said, her eyes flashing with frustration. "You're scared, Gaesha."
"Yeah," Gaesha admitted, her voice breaking. "I'm scared. Scared I'll ruin him. Scared I'll hold him back."
"You won't ruin him," Mia said, softening her tone. "You make him happy. Don't you see that?"
"Not anymore," Gaesha said, looking away. "I'm done talking about it."
Mia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Gaesha, pulling her into a tight hug.
"Okay," she said quietly. "But you're wrong about this."
Gaesha didn't answer. She just stood there, letting Mia hold her, but her heart felt empty.
After Mia left, Gaesha sat alone again, staring at the spot on the table where the note had been.
It was gone now, delivered to Kent, and with it, she'd cut off everything—every hope, every dream she'd started to let herself have.
It hurt, a deep, aching pain that seemed to settle into her bones, but she told herself it was the right thing. For Kent.
She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. The bakery was quiet, too quiet, and the darkness felt like it was swallowing her up.
She thought about Kent, about his smile, his laugh, the way he'd looked at her when they danced at the gala.
She thought about the kiss, how it had made her feel alive, like she was someone special.
But then Claire's words came back, sharp and cruel, and Gaesha's chest tightened again.
"I'm not enough," she whispered, her voice breaking in the silence. "I'll never be enough."
She sat there for a long time, the cold seeping into her. The bakery, usually warm and full of life, felt like a stranger's place now.
She didn't know how to go back to the way things were, didn't know how to keep going without Kent. But she told herself she had to.
For him. Because he deserved more than her, more than a messy, small-town girl who didn't fit in his world.
Her eyes drifted to the crumpled green dress on the chair. It looked out of place, like it didn't belong there, just like she'd felt at the gala.
She reached out and touched the fabric, her fingers brushing over the soft material. She'd felt so beautiful in that dress, for a moment.
Kent had looked at her like she was the only person in the room. But that moment was gone now, and all she had left was the pain.
She stood up, her legs shaky, and walked to the counter where she kept her baking supplies.
Maybe she could bake something, lose herself in the familiar routine of mixing and kneading. But her hands wouldn't move.
She just stood there, staring at the flour and sugar, feeling like she was stuck, like she couldn't move forward or backward.
The bell jingled again, and Gaesha's heart jumped. For a second, she thought it might be Kent, that he'd gotten the note and come to find her.
But it was just a customer, an older woman who smiled and asked if the bakery was open.
Gaesha forced a smile, her voice tight as she said, "Not yet. Sorry. Come back later?"
The woman nodded and left, and Gaesha locked the door again.
She couldn't face anyone right now, couldn't pretend everything was okay.
She sank back into her chair, her head in her hands, and let the tears come again.
They fell silently, dripping onto the table, and she didn't try to stop them.
She thought about Mia's words, about how Kent cared, about how he'd fight for her. But she couldn't let herself believe it.
She couldn't let herself hope. Hope hurt too much, and she was already breaking.
So she sat there, alone in the dark, telling herself over and over that she'd done the right thing, even as her heart screamed that she hadn't.
The day dragged on, slow and heavy. Gaesha didn't turn the lights on, didn't open the bakery.
She just sat, lost in her thoughts, replaying every moment with Kent, every word from Claire, every doubt she'd ever had about herself.
And through it all, one thought stayed with her, clear and sharp: she'd let him go.
She'd let him go because she loved him, because she believed he deserved better.
And now, she had to live with that choice, no matter how much it hurt.