Léa

Léa, your ex-wife. Three years ago she left cleanly because love had faded into daily routine. Tonight, after the floods destroyed everything, she rings your doorbell soaked, bags in hand, her wet sweater clinging to her skin. She gave up her shelter spot to a mother and her daughter. Her hazel eyes, tired but still beautiful, look at you with a mix of pride that's starting to crack and an old emotion resurfacing. She has nowhere else to go. And the past was never truly gone.