Hope

I trail behind Elena as we step into her office. The door creaks open on its hinges, revealing a space that’s more lived-in than formal. Sunlight filters through gauzy curtains, brushing over shelves cluttered with books, old photographs, and little glass bottles filled with dried herbs. She gestures toward the chair across from her desk.

“Sit,” she says gently.

I do, perching on the edge, unsure what will spill out of her mouth. Feeling out of place, my eyes flit around the room before landing on Elena. She’s waiting, but I can't tell what for.

She settles into the chair behind the desk, fingers threading together on top of...