She walks away. Shoulders tight. Steps precise.
I follow. My hands curl into fists.
We make it to the café before she breaks.
"This is my fault," she says. Voice shaking. "I pushed too hard. Got too confident. And now?—"
"This isn't your fault."
"They're targeting us. Because of what we did. Because we got the blueprints."
"They're scared. That's why they're lashing out."
"And my business is paying the price." She presses her hands to her face. "Small Business Day was. It was going to be huge exposure. A chance to prove the café matters. That we all matter."
"We'll find another way."
"Will we? Because it feels like every time we take one step forward, they push us three steps back."
I want to argue. Want to tell her it'll be fine.
But the sign-up sheet was our chance. Our opportunity to show the town council that the rowhouse businesses deserve protection.
Without it, we're back to square one.
"Maybe I should just. Give up," Maris says quietly. "Sell. Take whatever money I can get and start over somewhere else."
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I?" She looks at me. Her eyes are red. "What's the point of fighting if we're just going to lose anyway?"
"The point is that we tried. That we didn't let them win without a fight."
"That's not enough, Grath. Trying doesn't pay the bills. Trying doesn't save the café."
"But giving up guarantees you lose everything."
"I'm going to lose everything anyway!"
The words echo in the empty café. Maris covers her mouth. Her shoulders shake.
I pull her close. She resists for half a second, then collapses against my chest.
"I'm tired," she whispers. "I'm so tired of fighting."
"I know."
"I don't know if I can keep doing this."
"You can."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're the strongest person I've ever met. And because you're not alone."
She makes a sound that's half laugh, half sob.
"We're going to lose, aren't we?" Her voice is small. Muffled against my shirt.
