Still trapped in confusion, Elena could faintly hear muffled voices echoing in her ears as though they were coming from a distance. Her eyes caught shadows of people rushing towards her, their movements quick and urgent. She tried focusing on her surroundings, struggling to make sense from where she was, but a sharp, pounding headache held her back as she was about to sit up.
"Just keep still" the doctor instructed calmly as her vision became clearer.
"Mummy!" Elena cried out the moment she recognised her mum was standing close to her. Mrs Gregory rushed into Elena arms holding her tight with tears in her eyes.
After a moment the doctor's calm voice broke through the emotion.
"Elena, how are you feeling?" he asked as her mum reluctantly loosened her embrace.
"I dont feel well, doctor…my whole body aches, and this headache is unbearable," Elena murmured pressing her left hand against my forehead.
"We'll give you some medication to help stabilise you and ease the pounding headache" doctor said, with a warm smile as he turns to the nurse to instruct them on what to administer to elena.
The nurse gently asked Mrs Gregory to get Elean something to eat. Without wasting a second, she hurried out of the ward, determined to bring back food for both Elena and Mr Gregory.
Elena observed the nurse scribbling out something on her note pad at the corner of the ward, but her lips were dry, her throat burning as if she had swallowed fire. Every second felt endless and she couldn't wait for her mother to return. Summoning the little strenth she had left, she whispered, her voice cracking, " Excuse me ma'am, please…can I get some water?I'm really thirsty"
" oh sure, I can get that for you down the hallway" the nurse responded.
"Here you go" the nurse said while handing over a bottle of water to Elena.
"Thank you so much" Elena said.
Shortly after, Elena's mum came in with food.
"Mum," Elena croaked, her voice cracking. "Dad… is he okay?"
Mrs. Gregory's lips trembled. She smoothed her daughter's hair. "He's resting. The surgery went well. Your father is a strong man. He saved your life."
Tears blurred Elena's eyes. She felt weak, guilty, grateful—all at once. "Why… why did he do it?"
"Because you're my daughter, Elena. What else was I supposed to do?" Mr Gregory answered faintly, as he limped inside Elena's ward to see her desperately.
"Dad," she whispered, crying softly. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't—"
"Stop that," Mr. Gregory interrupted firmly as he sat on her bed, though his tone was gentle. "Accidents happen. Don't ever blame yourself for the accident that happened. You're alive, and that's what matters."
Mrs. Gregory standing between them, holding both their hands. "We'll get through this phase together. As long as we have each other."
The next few weeks were slow but steady. Both father and daughter were discharged, though the hospital bills hung over them like a heavy storm cloud. Elena could not return to university that semester. They simply didn't have the money. The bakery—Mr. Gregory's pride and livelihood—became the family's only hope. He poured himself into it, kneading dough before sunrise, working long hours, denying sleep to repay the debts.
"Dad, let me help," Elena pleaded one morning, tugging an apron over her frail body.
"You're supposed to be resting," he said sternly, though his smile betrayed his pride in her determination. "Your mother and I can handle this. Your job is to recover fully."
But Elena never stopped trying to help and assist in one way or the other. She served customers, wiped tables, even experimented with new recipes to lighten his load. Yet, behind Mr. Gregory's smile, pain brewed. Unknown to the family, his remaining kidney was already struggling under the strain.
---
It was a Sunday evening when it happened. Mr. Gregory collapsed in the bakery kitchen.
"Gregory!" Mrs. Gregory screamed, rushing to his side. Elena, panicking, dropped the tray she was holding.
"Dad!" Elena cried. "Mum, call the ambulance!"
At the hospital, the doctor's words fell like thunder. "His kidney is failing. He needs a transplant as soon as possible."
Elena's chest tightened, knowing well that both her and her mum, Mrs Gregory do not have any kidney to donate by themselves.
Even the hospital bills for the surgery for last time was not yet completed.
The family stood frozen. Mr. Gregory lay on the bed, frail and barely able to sit up.
---
Back at home, discussions grew pressing and desperate. Mrs. Gregory suggested selling the bakery. "Gregory, we could at least get some money for the surgery—"
"Dad mummy is right" Elena seconded
"No." His voice was hoarse but resolute. He beckoned Elena closer. "Listen to me. You must never sell the bakery. It's more than walls and ovens. It's love, sacrifice… it's what kept us alive. Even if you sell it, it won't cover the surgery. And then what? Where will you turn? Don't you see? And mind you qe haven't covered for the last bills.
Tears spilled down Elena's cheeks. "But Dad, we can't just watch you suffer."
"I won't suffer! Mr Gregory affirmed strongly, I'll get drugs from the nearby store and I'll be fine."
"Just Promise me. Promise you'll never sell the bakery. That you'll keep it alive."
Through broken sobs, Elena whispered, "I promise."
---
Days turned into weeks of agony. Mr. Gregory grew weaker, bedridden, unable to stand. Elena and her mother sat by his side, watching him helplessly struggle to live day and night.
The drugs were not working. It was just there serving to keep him alive.
One night, when Elena was back from the bakery, Mr Gregory called Elena again.
"Elena," he said faintly, his eyes glassy. "Remember… never fail the bakery, its the family's legacy don't let it slip from your hands.
She clutched his hand, shaking her head violently. "Don't talk like that, Dad. You'll be fine. Please, don't leave us."
But with a final squeeze of her hand, he whispered, "I love you, my sweet little girl." His eyes closed, his heart beat for one last time—and then stopped.
"No! Dad! Please, wake up!" Elena screamed, shaking him as Mrs. Gregory rushed into the room wrapping her arms around her daughter, both of them drowning in grief.
---
From that day, Elena was never the same. Guilt consumed her. She blamed herself for his death every single day, the accident replaying in her mind every night. She hated herself for surviving when it cost her father his life. Her dreams ended in the screech of brakes, the sound of impact, her father's face fading. She refused to go back to school, believing it was the school vacation that led to the accident which was the root of it all.
Her mother tried everything. "Elena, you have to let go. It wasn't your fault," she would whisper, holding her tightly. But Elena only shook her head, withdrawing further into herself.
One evening, Mrs. Gregory came to Elena's room to see how she was doing as she had refused to eat that morning."Elena, my once vibrant daughter, right now i look at you and i cant find that spark in you anymore. I cant even recognise you as your mother. Your father wouldn't want this. Please, come with me to see a therapist. You need help, my child."
For the first time, Elena didn't resist. She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
---
Therapy was hard. Sitting in a quiet room with a stranger, Elena at first could barely speak. But little by little, she poured out her pain. She spoke of the accident, the guilt, the bakery, the promise. The therapist listened patiently, sometimes gently challenging her thoughts, sometimes simply letting her cry.
"Elena," the therapist said one day, "your father didn't die because of you. He made a choice—a loving father's choice. The way to honor him isn't by destroying yourself with guilt, but by living the life he wanted for you."
The words echoed in Elena's heart. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe them.
---
Months passed. Elena began to heal. She found herself again—slowly, painfully, but surely. One morning, she woke up and told her mother, "Mum, I want to go back to school."
Mrs. Gregory's face lit up with relief. "Oh, Elena. That's wonderful! Would you want to continue from were you stopped?"
Elena smiled faintly. " No mum, i want to start afresh in another school and study Business administration. I want to learn how to run the bakery properly. I want to fulfill Dad's promise."
---
The years at university were not easy. She struggled with finances, sometimes skipping meals, working part-time jobs to support herself and her mother. She also made good friends that was also updating her on every class she missed. But every exam, every assignment, she pictured her father's proud smile, and it pushed her forward. She didn't just want a degree—she wanted to honor a legacy.
Finally, graduation day arrived. As Elena walked across the stage, wearing her cap and gown, she held back tears. She could almost hear her father's voice saying, That's my girl.
---
After the ceremony, Elena went straight to the cemetery to pay her late dad a visit. The sun was setting, She knelt before her father's grave, her degree clutched tightly in her hands.
"Hi, Dad," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I did it. I finished. I kept my promise. I'll make sure the bakery never dies. Your legacy will live on."
Tears streamed down her face, but this time, they were not only of sorrow—they carried pride, healing, and love.
The wind rustled softly, and in her heart, Elena felt it—a quiet assurance, as though her father was smiling down on her.
For the first time in years, she stood tall, her heart lighter. She was ready.
The bakery would live. And so would she.
---
Elena adjusted the red apron around her waist and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The smell of freshly baked croissants filled the air, blending with the warm sweetness of cinnamon rolls cooling on the counter. The bakery was alive again—just the way her father had always dreamed.
Her mother, Mrs. Gregory, carried out a tray of vanilla cupcakes from the oven, their tops golden and soft, the kind that almost melted in your mouth. She set them down on the counter, breathing heavily but smiling with pride. "Your father would have loved this, Elena," she said, her voice soft but certain.
Elena glanced at the old, leather-bound recipe notebook sitting on the shelf. Her father's handwriting was still neat and bold on every page. The book wasn't just recipes—it was memories, ideas, secret ingredients, and the love of a man who had poured his soul into this bakery.
"Yeah, Mum. I know," Elena replied, blinking quickly as tears threatened. "I'm going to make sure everyone in this town knows his bakery is still alive. Better than ever.
The bakery will be the best in the city that everyone both far and near would want to get something from it."
The bell above the door jingled as customers streamed in. The little bakery, once struggling, now had a line that sometimes stretched outside. People left reviews in the review box —'The best pastries in town,' 'Cupcakes that taste like heaven,' 'The kind of bread that makes you forget your diet.'
Elena made sure she read reviews every single day before leaving the bakery. If she can't finish up the reading, she'll take them home. It was her motivation, strength and joy.
Elena had made sure to put her business degree to good use, keeping meticulous financial records and introducing new systems for inventory, expenses, and customer service.
She wasn't satisfied with just keeping things afloat. She wanted to grow and expand. "Dad always dreamed of this place being more than a bakery," she told her mother one evening as they closed up shop. "He wanted it to be a hub. A place where people can come for breakfast, lunch, maybe even dinner someday. I want to expand—add proper meals, a café section, even delivery services."
Her mother smiled tiredly, wiping flour from her cheeks. "Ambitious, just like your father. But promise me, Elena, don't push yourself too hard. Dreams take time."
Elena nodded, though inside she was restless.
---
The bakery thrived for months. Sundays became their busiest days. People crowded the little shop, and Elena sometimes had to turn customers away when supplies ran out. They began experimenting with her father's "secret recipes"—a puff pastry with a hint of cardamom, a strawberry tart laced with a touch of rosemary, pancakes that seemed to taste different in the best way each time.
One afternoon, as Elena was tallying up the day's sales, her mother came in with a folded letter in her hand. Her face was pale.
"Elena," she said quietly. "This came in the mail today." Then she handed it over to Elena to read it.
With a sense of confusion wrapped up her my head, she collected it.
The moment she began to unwrap the envelope, the headings of the letter drew her attention,
"NOTICE OF DEMOLITION AND IMMEDIATE EVACUATION: Landed Property ( Former baking store)"
City planning department. Property at 124 Rosewood Street has been marked for clearance to make way for the Williams Towers company Project.