“That’s just not good enough. You’ve seen our son once in two months!”
“I’ll take him out when I’m back in town. He’ll be fine.”
“No, you can’t just do that, Adrian. That’s not fair on him!”
“Hey, this never would’ve been a problem if you hadn’t insisted on getting a divorce and moving back to Sydney.I wouldn’t be this far away from my own son, and he could’ve grown up in a stable home.”
I roll my eyes at his condescending tone and obvious attempts at gaslighting. Like seriously? When did he become such as narcissistic prick?
“Ah, news flash, Adrian! I divorced you because you cheated on me and got your mistress pregnant. Why would I be stupid enough to stay with you after that? And FYI, Zacwillgrow up in a stable home. It just won’t include you!”
“You really need to move on from that. Yes, it happened, and I’ve apologised profusely for it. Why can’t you just let it go?”
“Because you blew up our entire life and don’t seem to feel a shred of remorse, especially when you started sleeping with other women barely two weeks after I ended our relationship. And because you’ve abandoned your son more times than I can count, all to spend time with your fucking hook-ups!”
I’m so angry that I don’t even realise my voice has risen, or that a few customers nearby have begun casting curious glances in my direction.
“You know what?” I say more quietly, my voice low, yet firm. “Do whatever you want, Adrian. Do whatever it is that you clearly think is more important than spending time with our son. I’ll spend the weekend with him. Just don’t be surprised if one day he stops caring whether you’re around or not.”
I cut the call and toss my phone into my bag harder than I intend. I hate how easily he gets under my skin. Since our divorce was finalised a few weeks ago, he’s turned into an insufferable arsehole in every conceivable way. It’s as if the mask has finally slipped, exposing the real Adrian: the man who only ever cared about himself.
Thankfully, our divorce was as swift as I could have hoped. Adrian didn’t contest a single thing—not the house I owned, not the child support, not even the parenting order the judge signed, which essentially mirrored the agreement we had reached the day I walked out on our marriage more than thirteen months ago.
I was so terrified that Adrian would go back on his word and fight me for custody of Zac. I lost sleep and my appetite for weeks, consumed by the fear that he might be spiteful enough to try something so cruel. But when I brought it up with my parents, my dad just cackled and said, “Let him try.” That was the end of that conversation.
“Do you still need more time?” the shop assistant asks, dragging me back to the moment.
I quickly shake off the heavy thoughts and glance back at the two plants, torn between the peace lilies in my favouriteshade of yellow and the ZZ plant, which is—well—practically indestructible.
Unable to decide, I cave and take them both.
“I’ll take that one—and that one,” I say, pointing to my two chosen plants and smiling.
The shop assistant carefully lifts the potted plants from the shelf and sets them on the counter at the register before transferring them gently into a cardboard box.
I tap my card on the machine and clutch the box against my chest, thanking the very kind and helpful shop assistant before existing the stall.
My thoughts are so lost in the conversation with Adrian, that I fail to watch where I’m going—until I suddenly collide with something… no, someone. A man. Tall, solid, and built like an immovable wall. The impact nearly crushes the plants between us.
“Woah, there! Are you okay?”
His strong hands close around my arms to steady me, and my gaze lands on the man’s broad chest, the muscles beneath his white shirt straining against the fabric. His voice is so deep and velvety, so much so that I barely register he’s speaking to me at first.
“Hope? Hope Turner?”
When our eyes finally meet, mine widen instantly.
It’s been over thirteen months since I last saw this man, long enough that I almost forgot he existed. Judging by the way he remembers my name, even after all this time—it’s clear he never forgot about me.
“McKenna,” I correct him.
“What?” he says, genuinely confused.
“It’s McKenna now—my name,” I clarify firmly.
His brows crease further in confusion, then, as realisation dawns, they arch in surprise.
I let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t look so shocked, Kaden. What did you expect after you handed me a grenade that practically blew up my whole life.”
