Chapter 3

Getting to know Owen happened naturally, as if it were always meant to.

He was like a warm spring breeze, gentle and unassuming, but somehow he had a way of chasing the clouds from my mind.

He came to the flower shop every day.

Sometimes he stopped by after work, still carrying the weight of a long day, but his face would soften into a warm smile the moment he saw me.

He would pick up a small bouquet, sometimes chamomile, sometimes baby's breath, and he'd say with a grin, "Something about these little flowers just puts me in a good mood."

I knew the truth, though. The flowers were just an excuse to see me.

Other times, he showed up during his lunch break with a neatly packed meal.

He set it down on the counter and said, "I had a feeling you forgot to eat again."

He always seemed to read my mind.

The shop owner was a perceptive woman, and she picked up on the subtle shift between us right away.

She nudged me with a teasing smile and said, "Nora, I think your spring is finally coming."

My cheeks flushed, and a quiet sweetness bloomed in my chest.

But I didn't dare hope.

I was a divorced woman who "couldn't even have children."

In the eyes of the world, I had lost the right to be loved.

Owen was incredible, and there had to be hundreds of women better than me lining up at his door.

So I tucked my insecurities away and buried them deep where no one could see.

Then one day, I came down with a high fever. I lay curled up on my bed in my tiny apartment, drifting in and out of consciousness.

My phone had been ringing for a while before I finally managed to swipe the screen and answer it.

It was Owen.

His voice came through, laced with concern. "Nora, you didn't come to the shop today. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I croaked, my voice barely holding together. "It's just a little cold."

A few seconds of silence passed on the other end.

Then his tone shifted, firm and leaving no room for argument. "Send me your address."

Half an hour later, a knock came at my door.

I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled over to open it. Owen stood in the hallway, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, a pharmacy bag dangling from one hand.

The moment he saw my flushed face, his brow furrowed. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "You're burning up. Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

His hand was warm, and the quiet strength of his touch made me feel safe.

I couldn't hold back my tears any longer. They slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.

It had been so long since anyone had cared about me like this.

When I was married to Eric and got sick, I had to drag myself to the hospital alone. I waited in line by myself, picked up my own prescriptions, and drove myself home.

All he ever did was call and ask in that flat, indifferent tone of his, "How are you feeling?"

Owen helped me back into bed and gave me some fever medicine. Then he soaked a cloth in warm water and gently wiped down my forehead and arms to bring the temperature down.

He moved around the room with quiet efficiency that made my chest ache, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

I asked him through the haze of my fever, "How do you know how to take care of someone like this?"

His hand paused for just a second as he pulled the blanket up over me. He said softly, "My mother was sick for a long time before she passed. I got used to it."

So that was why.

My heart softened a little more.

The medicine kicked in, and the tension in my body finally eased. I drifted off into a deep, heavy sleep.

*****

When I opened my eyes again, the room was dark.

A dim bedside lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the sheets, and Owen was sitting in the chair beside my bed, watching me quietly.

The moment he saw I was awake, he stood up and poured a glass of warm water. He brought it over and held it out to me.

He asked gently, "How are you feeling?"

I took the glass from him and felt the warmth seep into my fingers. "Much better. Thank you."

He smiled and said, "You haven't eaten anything, have you? I made some soup."

He came back with a steaming bowl. The rich, savory smell filled the room, and I cupped it in both hands, sipping slowly.

The warmth spread through me from the inside out, and I felt something loosen in my chest that had been tight for hours.

I said quietly, "Mr. Grant, I really appreciate everything you've done for me today."

Owen cut me off. "Call me Owen." His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Nora, I don't want things between us to stay this formal."

My heart skipped a beat.

My fingers tightened around the mug in my hands, and I couldn't bring myself to look at him. "I—"

"Nora, I know what's holding you back." His voice was steady and sure. "Your past doesn't matter to me. Not one bit. When I look at you, I see someone kind, and strong, and beautiful. You deserve to be loved, and you deserve to be happy."

He paused, then asked, "So will you give me a chance to be the one who makes that happen?"

His confession was sincere and straightforward.

He didn't use any fancy words, but every single one hit me right in the heart.

I looked up and met his eyes. I saw something in them I had never seen before, a seriousness and a certainty that took my breath away.

I hesitated. I was scared, because I'd been hurt before and I didn't know if I could survive it again.

I forced the words out, barely above a whisper. "I can't have children." It was the deepest thorn buried in my heart, but I couldn't bring myself to lie to him.

Owen smiled and reached out to gently take my hand. "I told you, Nora. I love you. Not your ability to have kids. Whether we have children or not doesn't matter to me. What matters is that the person by my side is you."

Tears spilled down my cheeks all over again, but this time they were happy tears.

I nodded, my voice breaking. "Okay."

He pulled me into his arms, and his embrace felt warm and solid.

He murmured softly against my hair. "Nora, you have me now. Don't be afraid."

After that day, we naturally started dating.

Owen was so good to me that it almost didn't feel real.

He remembered everything about me. He knew I hated cilantro, loved sunflowers, and was allergic to mangoes.

He took me to every great restaurant in the city, and it was like he was making up for all the years I'd spent neglecting myself.

He would sit and listen to me ramble about the smallest, most mundane things, and he never once looked bored or impatient.

He spoiled me like I was a child.

For the first time in my life, I finally understood what it felt like to be truly loved.

I wasn't born to be looked down on or torn apart with cruel words.

I deserved to be cherished, too.

After Owen and I got together, I'd run into old neighbors from time to time.

They would see the two of us standing side by side, looking like something straight out of a magazine, and their eyes would go wide with shock and jealousy.

I knew it was only a matter of time before word got back to Margaret.

Sure enough, I soon spotted the last person I wanted to see standing right outside the flower shop.

It was Eric.

He had lost some weight, and he looked worn out.

He stood a short distance away, staring at me with an unreadable expression.