They left early Saturday morning. Arthur chose casual clothes instead of his usual tailored attire, unsure why the change felt important. The drive through winding mountain roads loosened something in him. Maribel pointed out places from her childhood, a river where she learned to swim, a diner that served the best biscuits she had ever tasted. Arthur listened, not as an employer but as someone discovering a person he had never truly seen.
The town was small and welcoming, filled with the sounds of music and laughter. When they arrived at the venue, conversations paused as eyes turned toward the unfamiliar man holding Maribel’s hand. A woman stepped forward slowly, her posture careful, her expression searching.
“That must be your friend,” the woman said, studying Arthur closely.
Maribel smiled nervously. “Mama, this is Arthur.”
The woman looked at him for a long moment, then her eyes widened slightly. “Arthur Bellamy,” she said softly. “From the fire.”
Arthur froze.