Vitaly doesn’t move.
Not at first.
Just stands there, still staring at the door like maybe if he waits long enough, it’ll erase what just happened.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
He walks past me.
Goes to the prep station.
Grabs a bowl.
Pours flour.
Misses the edge.
A cloud of white dust explodes across the counter and coats his forearm, but he doesn’t react. He just swipes at it too hard and knocks the mixing bowl sideways.
It lands with a crack on the floor and rolls under the counter.
I crouch to retrieve it.
My hands are shaking too.
Because I just saw something I wasn’t supposed to see.
A man breaking.
When I stand, he’s bracing himself against the counter.
Breathing slow. Controlled.
Like he’s counting.
Like he’s trying not to shatter.
“She wants something I can’t give.” His voice is quieter than usual. Rougher. Frayed.
I study him for a beat.
“You know… if someone’s giving you trouble…” I say gently. “I know people who can help.”
That’s when he looks at me.
Really looks.
Not like a co-worker.
Like someone holding a secret so heavy it’s pulling his bones down.
And for a second, just one second, I see him.
Not the baker.
Just a man.
