A month later, Clara's little table in front of the apartment had become something of a neighborhood favorite. People didn't just come for the cookies anymore — they came for her smile, for her calm voice, for the warmth she brought to the street.
So when the local weekend market opened for small vendors, Lily encouraged her to join.
"You should try it, Clara," Lily said one evening, helping her pack the cookies. "Everyone loves your baking — this way, more people can taste it."
Clara hesitated. Crowds still made her nervous. For so long, she had only existed in silence, hidden from the world behind glass.
But Lily's eyes were bright with excitement.
And Clara couldn't bear to disappoint her.
"All right," she said softly. "Let's give it a try."
---
The next Saturday morning, Clara set up a small wooden stall at the market's edge. She laid out trays of cookies, a few cakes, and a handwritten menu. A little chalkboard read:
> "Clara's Homemade Cookies — Made with Love."
The air was filled with laughter and chatter, the smell of roasted coffee, and music from a nearby street performer.
Clara stood quietly behind her stall, watching the people pass.
One by one, customers stopped to taste her cookies.
A few came back for seconds.
And soon, a small line began to form.
She could hardly believe it.
---
By noon, she was nearly sold out.
A woman in her sixties stopped at her stall, holding a cup of tea.
"These are wonderful," she said, smiling. "Your cookies taste… nostalgic, somehow. Almost like something I had when I was a child."
Clara bowed her head. "Thank you. I'm glad they bring you good memories."
The woman looked at her more closely then — not unkindly, but curiously.
"You know," she said slowly, "you look just like that old doll they found in the Titanic wreck. I saw a picture of it years ago — same face, same expression. They called it the Perfect Doll."
Clara froze.
Her hands trembled slightly, though she quickly hid them beneath the counter.
She smiled faintly, trying to sound calm. "Ah, I must just have one of those faces."
The woman chuckled and walked away, but Clara's chest felt heavy.
Even after all these years… even after learning to live again… her past was still there, waiting to be recognized.
---
That night, after packing up, Clara and Lily walked home together.
Lily was still talking about how successful the day had been — about how people loved the cookies, how she should open her own shop someday.
But Clara's thoughts drifted back to the woman's words.
The Perfect Doll.
That photograph from long ago.
She wondered if the past would ever truly let her go.
---
Later, when Lily had gone to bed, Clara sat by the window of the apartment. The city lights shimmered like reflections on water — just like the surface of the sea that had swallowed her a century ago.
She touched her own porcelain cheek gently.
It was warm now.
Soft, almost like skin.
She didn't know how it had happened, or why. But maybe… maybe she didn't need to.
The world had given her a second chance — not as Jacob, not as a ghost or a creation — but as Clara, who baked cookies that made people smile.
And that was enough.
---
As she gazed out the window, the faint echo of ocean waves seemed to whisper through her thoughts.
The past was still a part of her — but so was the future.
Tomorrow, she would bake again.