Ten years.
A decade since the Vincent estate fell silent — since the girl who once watched the sea had to learn how to survive on her own.
The mansion was long sold, her family name whispered only in half-remembered gossip, and Freda Vincent had become someone else entirely — a woman of quiet strength, grace, and an unshakable will that no storm could destroy.
She lived in the city now, a place far from the coastal winds of her youth. Her days were spent managing the accounts of the small art gallery she worked for — the same one that showcased the very sketches she had once drawn with Edward in the garden. Life was simple, modest, but hers.
Still, every night, when the world fell quiet, she'd open that same wooden box under her bed — the one that held all her unsent letters and Edward's last message. The ink had faded, but the promise burned as bright as ever:
> *"If you ever read this, know that my promise still stands — I will return for you."*
She used to imagine what he'd look like now. Would he still have that boyish grin? Or had life carved sharper lines into his face, the way it had with hers?
Most nights, she'd whisper into the dark:
> "You're late, Edward."
But she always smiled after saying it — because part of her never stopped waiting.
---
#### **A Rumor and a Name**
The city was alive that afternoon — streets bustling with carriages, vendors shouting, and the smell of roasted chestnuts filling the cool air. Freda had just finished closing the gallery when she overheard two women talking near the doorway.
> "The new investor's arriving today. Some foreign businessman, terribly wealthy, from America, they say. Edward Harrington, I think?"
Freda froze.
Her heart tripped over itself — that name, like a ghost rising from the sea.
> *Edward.*
It couldn't be. After all these years?
She brushed it off, but the name followed her like a shadow all evening. When she finally fell asleep, her dreams were filled with the boy who had once held her hand under the stars — and the man who had promised to return.
---
#### **The Man in the Black Carriage**
Two days later, the gallery buzzed with unusual excitement. Mr. Harrington, the investor, was visiting to review their collection. Freda, lost in paperwork, didn't notice the hush that fell over the room when he entered.
Not until she heard his voice.
> "Miss Vincent?"
The sound of it stopped her heart. Low, steady, and achingly familiar.
She turned slowly — and the years between them vanished.
He stood there, taller than she remembered, dressed in a tailored black suit that spoke of quiet power. His eyes — the same deep storm-grey she'd once dreamed of — softened when they met hers.
Edward Harrington.
The boy who left as a dreamer had returned as a man who commanded the world.
For a long, breathless moment, neither spoke. The air between them was charged, fragile — as if a single word might break it.
> "Edward…" she whispered.
His lips curved slightly, almost sadly.
> "You still say my name the same way."
She wanted to laugh, to cry, to shout at him for being ten years too late. But all she could do was stare, her throat too tight for words.
---
#### **The First Conversation**
They sat across from each other in the quiet of her office. The air smelled faintly of turpentine and old paint — memories of another life.
Edward leaned back, studying her as if trying to piece together the girl he once knew from the woman before him.
> "You've changed," he said softly. "And yet… not at all."
Freda forced a small smile. "People do that, Edward. They grow up. They learn to live without things they once thought they couldn't."
His jaw tightened. "And did you? Learn to live without me?"
The question was too sharp, too sudden. Her eyes darted away.
> "I had to."
Silence stretched between them — heavy with everything they hadn't said for years.
Edward exhaled, fingers brushing the edge of her desk. "Freda, I wrote to you. Dozens of letters. None were answered."
Her head snapped up. "I never received any. Only one — the one that came after Father died."
For a moment, his expression faltered — pain flickering across his face. "My father intercepted them. He thought you were… a distraction. I was sent overseas, under the promise of inheritance. I tried to come back, but by the time I did, the Vincents were gone. The house empty."
Her breath caught. "So it wasn't… you?"
He shook his head. "Never."
The truth hit her like a wave — all the lost years, the silence, the heartbreak — none of it by choice. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them back.
> "Then why now?" she asked quietly. "Why return after all this time?"
He hesitated — the man who commanded empires suddenly unsure of his words.
> "Because I made a promise. And because, Freda… I never stopped waiting either."
---
#### **The City Lights**
That night, Edward invited her to dinner — not in some grand ballroom, but in a quiet restaurant overlooking the river. The city lights shimmered against the water, casting a golden glow between them.
They talked — really talked — for the first time in years. About everything they'd missed: her mother's passing, his business, their separate journeys. Every story was a thread, slowly weaving them back together.
At one point, Freda laughed — a sound she hadn't heard from herself in years. Edward's gaze softened, as if memorizing it.
> "You still laugh like that," he said. "As if the world could start again."
She shook her head. "You make it sound like I'm still that girl on the cliffs."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe part of her still lives in you. Maybe she's the reason I found my way back."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to believe him — to trust that time hadn't changed what they once shared. But love, she knew now, wasn't the same as it was in youth. It came with scars.
> "You've built a life here," Edward continued softly. "But I'd like to be part of it, if you'll let me."
Her eyes met his — steady, searching. "Edward… I don't know if I can go back."
He leaned forward, his hand brushing hers across the table. "Then don't go back. Let's start again."
The world seemed to still.
Freda looked at their hands — the same warmth she remembered, only steadier now. She realized that waiting hadn't been in vain. Time hadn't destroyed what they had; it had refined it.
---
#### **The Promise Rekindled**
As they walked outside, the river breeze carried the faint scent of sea salt — a memory from the past, haunting and beautiful. Edward stopped near the bridge, turning to her with a look that made her heart tremble.
> "Do you remember what I said before I left?"
She nodded faintly. "That you'd come back for me."
He smiled, a mix of sorrow and hope. "And I did. It just took me longer than I planned."
Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them. "You're late, Edward."
He reached up, gently brushing the tear away with his thumb.
> "Then let me make it up to you… for as long as it takes."
And for the first time in years, Freda let herself breathe. She looked at him — really looked — and saw not the boy she lost, but the man who had fought his way back to her.
The city lights shimmered behind them, but she only saw him — the constant she had carried in her heart through every storm.
> "Maybe," she whispered, "you were never really gone."
He smiled softly. "Maybe neither of us were."
As the night settled around them, Freda realized something she hadn't dared to believe for years:
Love doesn't vanish — it waits. Quietly, patiently, like letters never sent but always meant to be found.
And beneath the glow of the city, Edward took her hand, their fingers entwining with the same quiet certainty that had bound them long ago.
The past had separated them.
Time had tested them.
But destiny — relentless, unyielding — had brought them home to each other.