Chapter 4
It was official. I blamed Eva for my lack of sleep.
By the time my alarm rang, I was already awake, staring at the ceiling as pale morning light crept across it. My thoughts refused to settle. They circled Eva’s words, then drifted somewhere I had tried not to go.
My mother.
She had been gone for a few years now, yet the ache still lived in my chest. She would never have believed I would come back to this town.
If she were still alive, would she have expected me to look for my father?
After we left, after the whispers and accusations followed me through every street, we had sworn never to return.
For a long time, I believed I lost my mother when her marriage collapsed.
Grief hollowed her out, turning her into someone quieter, smaller.
But I learned the truth the day I told her I was pregnant.
The day I admitted Ashton had abandoned me.
The day I confessed how the town had turned cruel, how they pointed and judged and tore me apart.
That was the first time I saw fear in her eyes. Not for herself, but for me.
Maybe she realized then that she could lose me too.
So she packed our lives into suitcases and left without hesitation.
I remembered the pain of that moment, but also the relief. I had not lost her completely. She chose me. Leaving was easy for her. The house belonged to my father. There was nothing there she wanted to save.
We ended up in Michigan, renting a small apartment.
She worked long hours at a department store.
Life was hard, but survivable. She supported me through my pregnancy, even while sinking into her own quiet despair.
Each day, the spark faded a little more.
She smiled sometimes, but it never reached her eyes.
She lived, but she was no longer alive in the way she once was.
I showered, made coffee, and ate a slice of pie Eva had left behind. With no plans and too many thoughts, I drove to the one place I had been avoiding.
My childhood home.
The two storey house stood exactly as I remembered.
Fresh paint. Neatly trimmed hedges. And yet, it felt like nothing more than a shell.
It stopped being mine the day my parents divorced.
My gaze fell to the garden. What had once been rows of white roses, my mother’s pride, was now overrun with weeds and broken pots.
She never gardened again after we left. Some losses never healed.
A wooden sign lay crooked on the lawn.
SOLD.
Final. Absolute.
I swallowed.
This house once held love. Now it belonged to someone else.
Or so I thought.
“You are trespassing.”
The voice sliced through my thoughts.
I turned.
Ashton Miller stood at the edge of the yard, sunlight catching on his expensive watch. He looked polished and untouchable. Clean shaven. Tailored suit. Control radiating from him. The boy I loved had laughed easily, kissed me without hesitation.
This man looked at me like a problem he intended to erase.
“Trespassing?” I said. “On my own house?”
“Not yours anymore.” His voice was calm. Distant. “You should not be here.”
The words stung.
“Funny,” I said. “That is what you told me yesterday.”
“This is not a game, Bailey.”
He stepped closer. Too close.
His cologne hit me, familiar enough to tighten my chest. My body betrayed me before my mind could stop it.
“This house belongs to me now.”
My breath caught. “What?”
He gestured toward the sign.
Understanding crashed into me.
Of course. He had not just bought property. He had bought my past.
“You planned this,” I said quietly.
“I saw an opportunity.”
“You always did.” My voice sharpened. “Control was never enough for you.”
“You deserved more than losing this house after what you did,” he said.
I laughed, short and bitter. “You have no idea what I did. You never asked. You assumed.” I met his gaze. “So why are you really here, Ashton? Do you not have another life to dismantle?”
His jaw clenched. “I am a businessman, not a villain.”
“Oh, is that what you call it now?” I shook my head. “I do not care about the house. Burn it down. Turn it into a monument to your ego. It has only ever reminded me that even the strongest promises can rot.”
I inhaled slowly. “You can rebuild this town all you want. You will never change the way people judge what they do not understand.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe.
Then it was gone.
He pulled out a thick brown envelope and held it between us.
“I spoke to your lawyer,” he said. “I know about the bakery. Sell it to me. Then leave.”
Not a request.
“You want me gone,” I said.
“Yes.”
The truth landed harder than any insult.
“I cannot be bought.”
A cold smile touched his lips. “I am not buying you. I am buying peace.”
“You do not get to decide that for me.”
“I do if you stay,” he said quietly. “This town does not need its past dug up.”
Anger surged. “Or are you afraid the truth might surface?”
His jaw tightened.
I stepped closer. “Tell me, Ashton. What frightens you more? That I stay, or that I leave?”
For the first time, he hesitated.
“Maybe I will keep the bakery,” I murmured. “Maybe I will stay. Maybe I will remind this town of everything it tried to bury.”
He grabbed my wrist.
The contact burned. Familiar. Dangerous.
“Do not,” he warned. “You do not know what you are starting.”
I tore my hand free. “I survived you once.”
I held his gaze. “I will do it again.”
We stood there, tension thick between us, years of unspoken truth humming in the air.
Then I turned and walked away before I gave him the satisfaction of seeing me break.