Chapter 12
The moment I saw her standing inside my bakery, I knew this was not a coincidence. People like her never appeared without purpose. They arrived to take something, to erase something, or to make sure you understood exactly where you stood.
“He was too much of a coward to come himself,” I said, a hollow laugh slipping out, sharp with sarcasm. “So he sent his new wife instead to face his daughter?”
“No,” she replied calmly. “Your father does not know I am here.”
Her voice was soft, almost gentle, matching her appearance. She looked young, probably not even forty. Polished. Composed. Beautiful in a way my mother had never been allowed to be. Grief had aged my mother quickly after my brother died. Sadness had a way of hollowing you out, especially when the man you loved walked away and left you to survive alone.
“What can I do for you,” I asked flatly. “Amelie, is it?”
That finally stirred something in her. She glanced around the bakery, slow and deliberate, as though weighing its value, before returning her gaze to me.
“I want you to leave my family alone,” she said. “That includes your father.”
I stared at her, stunned by the audacity wrapped in such a calm voice. I had not expected this from someone who looked so harmless. I supposed appearances really did lie.
“Do not look so surprised, Bailey,” she continued. “You probably wonder who I am to make such a request. But I will do anything if it affects my children.”
“Oh, I would love to hear this,” I said coldly. “Please, go on.”
“I know about your scandal,” she said, her tone firm now. “Your questionable morals are not good for my family. You never reached out to your father. You did not care what happened to him all these years. I was the one who picked him up when he was at his lowest. He was drowning in guilt and shame because of what you did to him. And now you come back with the audacity to accuse him again, to disrupt his life, to make him suffer all over again.”
My face burned. My hands curled into fists, inching dangerously close to slapping her for judging me without knowing a single truth.
“How dare you,” I snapped. “How dare you step into my life and accuse me of things you do not understand. To me, you are a stranger who thinks she matters just because she helped him heal.”
“I have every right,” she fired back. “He is my husband. And he is a father to my sons.”
“Before he was yours,” I said sharply, “he was my father. Whether you like it or not.”
“You lost that privilege,” she replied coldly, “the moment you chose to abandon him.”
Something cracked inside my chest. I laughed bitterly, past the point of restraint.
“Do you really think you can keep a man away from his own blood?” I said. “He may be married to you, but he will never be the father of your sons. You cannot expect him to discard his real child for stepchildren.”
The words were cruel. I knew it the moment they left my mouth.
I saw them land.
“He may be a stepfather to my sons,” Amelie said quietly, “but soon enough, he will be a father again.”
She placed a hand on her stomach.
I froze.
“This time, we are hoping for a baby girl,” she continued. “You see, he already has everything he ever wanted. A family that will not abandon him. A wife who stands by his side.”
She looked at me one last time.
“Go home, Bailey,” she said. “And do not come back.”
Then she turned and left, the door closing softly behind her.
A baby.
My replacement.
