Chapter 38
Ella
After hours at the bakery, it’s just Ashton and me. The open sign is off, the chairs are flipped onto tables, and the scent of cinnamon and sugar lingers in the air. I’m wiping down the counter for the third time, not because it’s dirty, but because I need to do something with my hands.
Ashton sits on a stool across from me, elbow on the counter, watching me like I’m about to crack.
“So,” she says gently, “You gonna tell me what happened?”
I take a deep breath and finally let it out. The entire story spills from my lips in one long unraveling thread, and the look on his face when I said the words, “I think I found who you’re looking for.”
When I finish, Ashton doesn’t speak right away. Her mouth is slightly open, like she’s trying to find the right words but knows they won’t be enough.
Finally, she says, “Ella… if all this is real, if that little girl really is his daughter, you can’t just let this go.”
“I know,” I whisper.” “That’s the problem. Even after everything… I have to do something. For her. For him.”
“Then you need proof. Not a hunch. Not a maybe. You need a photo.”
I nod slowly.
“Go up there,” Ashton says. “Get a photo with Scarlett and Aurora. Make it casual. Something you can show him.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “You’re right.”
The next day, I text Scarlett just after noon.
Ella: Hey! Random question. Totally ran out of honey at the bakery I’m actually up in your area. Can I pop by and grab some from you?
Her reply comes quickly.
Scarlett: Of course! I have a whole case. I’ll leave it on the porch unless you want to say hi :)
I type: Would love to say hi. Then I hit send before I can rethink it.
My stomach twists as I pull up to Scarlett’s house.
The whole drive here, I tried to convince myself I wouldn’t actually go through with it—that I’d make an excuse, turn around, and pretend I never even thought about doing this.
But here I am, standing on her porch, knuckles hovering midair before I finally knock.
When Scarlett opens the door, I’m struck by how… normal she looks. She’s calm, collected—motherly.
“Hi,” I manage, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”
Scarlett smiles faintly, stepping aside. “Of course. Aurora’s been talking about the bakery cookies nonstop.”
Inside, the house smells faintly of honey and something baking. My nerves flare, but then I hear it: Aurora’s laugh from the other room, high-pitched and pure.
Scarlett notices me watching. “She’s a handful, but she’s my everything.”
I swallow hard, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “You’re a good mom.”
Her eyes soften, surprised. “Thank you,” she says quietly, like she’s never heard the words.
Aurora runs into the room, tugging at Scarlett’s hand. “Mama, let’s show her my swing!”
Scarlett chuckles, glancing at me. “Do you want to see her favorite place?”
I nod, forcing a smile. “I’d love to.”
She leads me through the side door and out into the yard, where a massive oak tree towers like a guardian. A thick tire swing hangs from one of its branches, the rope sturdy and weathered. Scarlett rests her hand on it proudly. “I built this for her. She can swing here for hours.”
Aurora is already climbing on, giggling as the swing sways. I step forward instinctively and give her a gentle push. Her laughter bubbles through the air, and for a moment, it feels like any ordinary afternoon.
I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “Mind if I have something to drink?”
“Of course,” Scarlett says. “We’ve got iced tea. Would you like that?”
“Yes, thank you.”
From the swing behind me, a little voice pipes up, “Me too, please!”
Scarlett smiles indulgently and heads inside.
The second the door shuts, my heart lurches. This is it—my window. Aurora leans back in the swing, her hair catching the sunlight, and as the swing slows, I slip my phone out, then step next to the swing and lean in close to her.
“Hey, Aurora,” I say softly, forcing my voice to stay even. “Can you say cheese for me?”
She beams, eyes lighting up like fireworks—one blue, one brown, shining unmistakably. Click. My chest kicks as the photo saves to my phone. Proof. The photo I came here for.
Scarlett returns a moment later, two tall glasses of iced tea in hand, completely unsuspecting. I shove my phone back into my pocket, plastering on a smile.
We linger a little longer, sipping tea, chatting politely. But my pulse never slows. Finally, I glance at my watch and shoot up from the chair.
“Oh—I’m so sorry. I really should go. Thank you for letting me stop by.”
Scarlett sets her glass down, nodding. “Of course. You’re welcome anytime.”
Aurora waves from the swing. “Bye!”
I force myself to wave back, my throat tight. “Bye, sweetheart.”
I hug Scarlett briefly before heading back toward my car. My heart hammers the whole way. Because no matter how calm my smile looks, inside, I know I’ve just crossed a line I can’t uncross.
I slide into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. My chest rises and falls too quickly, my phone with the photo still burning like fire in my pocket.
I start the engine, ready to put this house in the rearview mirror, when a sharp knock on the window makes me jump so hard I almost scream.
My head whips to the side, Scarlett’s face.
For a split second, my stomach plunges. She knows. She saw.
I fumble for the window switch, forcing a shaky smile as it lowers. “Oh, Scarlett, you scared me.”
She holds out the box of honey, her expression easy. “You almost forgot the honey you came for.”
Relief floods me so fast I nearly laugh. “Right. Thank you.”
Scarlett passes it through the window with a warm nod before stepping back.
I clutch it like a lifeline, managing another smile as I put the car in gear. But as I drive off, the sweetness of the honey feels like a weight in my lap, thick, golden, and heavy with guilt.
By the time I step back into my apartment, the silence feels heavier than it should. Scarlett’s perfume still clings faintly to my sweater. My hands tremble as I set my phone down on the counter, Ivy’s photo still glowing across the screen.
I drop into the chair at my small kitchen table, the wood cold against my bare arms. The laptop feels heavier than usual when I open it, like it knows the weight of what I’m about to do. My fingers hover uselessly above the keys, suspended between fear and urgency.
The room feels tight, like the walls are leaning closer with every second I hesitate. My heart races as I click new message. The screen is too bright against the dim light, and I squint, blinking back tears as I type his name in the address bar: Nathan.
Subject line: URGENT.
The cursor blinks, waiting, pulsing like a heartbeat I can’t control. My chest aches as I drag Aurora’s photo into the body of the email. Her eyes, bright, innocent, so achingly familiar, stare back at me. I can’t stop my fingers from trembling.
I start typing, the words pouring out raw and uneven:
I don’t know if you’ll even read this. But you need to see this. Please, Nathan… open this attachment. Please look at her.
The words blur as tears streak down my cheeks, dotting the keyboard. My breaths come fast, shallow, as if the air itself has turned too thin to keep me steady.
For a long moment, I just stare, unable to push myself over the edge. Afraid of what it will mean if he ignores this.
My finger hovers above the trackpad, my whole body trembling with the force of my hope and fear colliding. Then, with a sharp inhale, I press send.
The whoosh of the email leaving feels final, slicing through the quiet. And then, nothing. Just the heavy silence of my apartment, the hollow ache of waiting, and the knowledge that this could be his daughter and the answer to everything he has been looking for.