The Place Where Hope Waited
London — Dusk
Behind the Old Theater on Brookside Lane
The wind swept gently down the quiet cobbled street behind the aging theater. A few gas lamps flickered to life as the sun slipped beneath the rooftops, casting the alley in soft amber hues.
Isabelle stood there, just as she had promised in the letter, beneath the ivy-covered brick wall.
She wore her performance coat—red velvet with slightly frayed edges—and her eyes were hollow with the exhaustion of too many sleepless nights.
She had been standing there for over an hour.
Every minute that passed scraped her heart a little thinner.
She had stopped checking the street every few seconds. She had stopped hoping.
Until—
Carriage wheels.
She didn't even look at first.
Not until she heard a voice… soft, hesitant, familiar.
"Isabelle?"
Her heart stopped.
She turned—and there she was.
Mary.
Dressed just as Isabelle had imagined. Pale coat, matching hat, soft curls falling at her shoulders like the evening light had woven itself into her hair.
Isabelle dropped her bag and rushed forward.
She didn't wait. She didn't think.
She threw her arms around Mary and pulled her into a fierce, trembling hug, holding her like someone who had spent months at sea and finally saw land again.
Mary gasped slightly but wrapped her arms around her just as tightly, burying her face into Isabelle's neck, breathing in the scent of rose water and cigarette smoke.
"I thought you weren't coming," Isabelle whispered, voice cracking. "I thought I lost you."
Mary held her tighter. "I nearly didn't make it. But I would've run here barefoot if I had to."
Behind them, Thomas stepped down from the carriage, watching in silent confusion.
He blinked.
He had expected a warm reunion. A friendly embrace between two girls who'd shared a childhood bond. Perhaps tears, laughter, old stories.
But this—this was different.
Isabelle still clung to Mary like she couldn't believe she was real. Mary stroked her hair softly, soothing her like she was calming a storm inside her chest.
And then he saw it.
The way Mary looked at Isabelle's face. Not like a friend. Not like a sister.
But like someone had just found home.
Thomas's throat tightened.
Oh…
He looked away, giving them a moment, and tried to swallow the strange knot in his chest.
This isn't just friendship, he realized.
This is the reason she came. This is the person she risked everything for.
And even though it stung—somewhere deep—he couldn't bring himself to be angry.
Because there was a kind of love you couldn't fake.
And he was witnessing it now.