Elinor moved slowly around the modest kitchen at Barton Cottage, where the afternoon light filtered through the window and gently illuminated the simple furnishings. On the table were some worn porcelain cups and a couple of freshly baked rolls; everything was carefully arranged.

She paused for a moment in front of the large window, gazing out at the fields stretching beyond the garden. Her mind calmly reviewed every detail of the latest news: Edward's engagement to Lucy, the inevitable separation of feelings and hopes that she must accept with discretion. There was no trace of despair on her face; the serenity she displayed was a veil, carefully concealing the pain that gripped her heart.

“Tea is ready,” she announced quietly, raising her voice just enough to call her family without disturbing the calm of the home.

As she served the cups, she watched her sisters closely: Marianne, even more impulsive and passionate than usual, gestured enthusiastically as she talked about Willoughby. With a barely perceptible sigh, Elinor adjusted a napkin, discreetly correcting a small mess that had occurred on the table, keeping her composure intact in front of everyone.

The afternoon passed at a leisurely pace, and she continued to play her usual role: conciliatory, moderate, attentive to every detail and emotion, never letting on how heartbroken she felt about Edward. Inside, the memory of what could have been remained hidden, silent but constant, like a faint shadow over the warm light of her home.