15. Ivy #2
Every outlet that runs the story also runs the gala footage.
Side by side comparisons. Her words about a broken marriage versus video of us dancing, laughing, looking at each other like we’re the only people in the room.
The narrative she spent months building collapses under the weight of a single night’s evidence.
By Friday, Richard Ashworth has issued a statement. The engagement is off. He cites “irreconcilable differences in values” and wishes her well. The tabloids are less kind. They call her a liar, a manipulator, a woman who tried to destroy what she couldn’t have.
I watch the news coverage once, on Amelie’s phone, while Maddie plays on the floor and Kurt fusses over a tray of cinnamon rolls in my kitchen.
“You’re not celebrating,” Amelie observes.
“There’s nothing to celebrate. She lost everything.”
“She tried to ruin your life.”
“And she ruined her own instead.” I hand the phone back. “That’s just sad.”
Kurt appears in the doorway, flour in his hair, a sheepish expression on his face. “The cinnamon rolls are ready.”
Amelie smiles and gathers her things. “I’ll leave you three to your breakfast. Ivy, I’ll open tomorrow. Take the morning off.”
“I don’t need…”
“Take. The morning. Off.” She kisses my cheek on her way out. “You earned it.”
The door closes behind her, and it’s just us. Kurt and Maddie and me, in the cottage that smells like cinnamon and possibility.
We eat at the small table by the window. Maddie in her high chair, mashing banana into her tray with gleeful abandon. Kurt across from me, stealing glances between bites, like he still can’t believe this is real.
“I got an email this morning,” I say.
“From the food group? About the market hall?”
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything now.” He sets down his fork. “What did they say?”
“They want an answer by the end of the month. It’s a big opportunity. Flagship location, built-in foot traffic, a chance to scale Wildflour into something bigger.”
“What are you thinking?”
I look around my kitchen. The handwritten recipe cards on the wall. The sourdough starter on the counter, still alive, still growing. The view of Main Street through the window, the town that took me in when I had nowhere else to go.
“I’m thinking I didn’t build this to abandon it.” I meet his eyes. “I’m thinking bigger isn’t always better. I’m thinking I have everything I need right here.”
“So you’re saying no?”
“I’m saying not yet. Maybe someday. But right now, I want to be here. I want Saturday mornings and Tuesday dinners and watching Maddie grow up in a place where people know her name.”
Kurt nods slowly. “Then that’s what we do.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Ivy, I spent fifteen years building an empire that didn’t make me happy. I’m not going to ask you to sacrifice something that does.”
“What about Mason Industries? The quarterly numbers, the board, all of it?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” He squeezes my fingers. “I talked to Oliver yesterday. About restructuring. Bringing in a CEO who actually wants the job, stepping back to a chairman role. Something that doesn’t require me to be in the city five days a week.”
“You’d do that?”
“I’d do more than that.” He holds my gaze. “I missed the first year of Maddie’s life because I was too busy being important. I’m not missing the rest. If that means downsizing, delegating, walking away from the corner office, then that’s what I do.”
“Kurt, that company is your legacy.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “She’s my legacy.” He nods toward Maddie, who’s now wearing most of her banana. “You’re my legacy. The life we’re building here, that’s what matters. The rest is just… stuff. Numbers on a spreadsheet. A name on a building.”
I stare at him across the table.
“Who are you?” I ask softly. “And what did you do with my husband?”
“I woke up.” He brings my hand to his lips. “Took me long enough, but I finally woke up.”
Maddie chooses this moment to fling a piece of banana across the table. It lands in Kurt’s coffee with a decisive plop.
“She has good aim,” he observes.
“She gets that from me.”
“Along with her stubbornness.”
“And her devastating good looks.”
He laughs, and the sound fills the kitchen. Maddie laughs too, delighted by the chaos she’s caused, and I find myself laughing with them, this little family I almost lost, this life I almost threw away.
“So what now?” Kurt asks, fishing banana out of his coffee.
“Now we figure it out. One day at a time.”
“And the market hall?”
“I’ll email them today. Tell them I’m not ready yet, but I’d like to revisit in a year or two. When Maddie’s older. When we’ve had time to settle into whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is.” He smiles. “I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. There are still terms.”
“Honesty audits. Therapy. No gifts I didn’t think of myself.”
“You remembered.”
“I told you. I remember everything now.”
***
Later that night, after Maddie’s asleep and the dishes are done and the world outside has finally stopped calling, Kurt finds me on the porch swing.
“Room for one more?”
“Always.”
He settles in beside me, and we rock gently in the darkness, listening to the crickets and the distant sound of cars on the county road.