Elena keeps apologizing.
I don't notice it at first—the apologies blend into the background of her daily presence, as constant and unobtrusive as her black coffee and plain croissant. But slowly, over the days and weeks since she first appeared at Marlene's Corner, I begin to recognize the pattern. It's subtle, woven into the fabric of her interactions like a thread she can't stop pulling, like a wound she can't stop pressing to see if it still hurts.
