That silence felt heavier than any cheering could have.
The neighbors who had defended Vanessa that morning stopped defending her. Nobody said anything cruel. They simply turned their attention back to the agenda while she gathered up her purse and her cardigan and walked out of the room alone.
Epilogue: Ovens at Five A.M.simo
I’d love to tell you that everything was easy after that night. It wasn’t.
The rented kitchen cost far more than I want to remember. A few customers never came back, and I had to let go of a couple of big orders I’d been counting on. Some nights, I came home from that fluorescent room so tired I fell asleep on the couch with my apron still on.
Vanessa kept to herself after the meeting. The complaints stopped. By the end of the summer, a “For Sale” sign appeared in her front yard. I don’t know where she went, and I’ve made peace with not knowing.
