Chapter 2
Back when I first met Grant, he was so broke he had to borrow a suit.
That winter was brutally cold. He stood in a hallway outside a business dinner for two hours, clutching his business plan, waiting for someone to give him five minutes.
I was working as a loan officer at a bank back then. I saw his face turn white with cold and gave him a cup of hot water.
After that, he spent six months courting me.
He said he'd make something of himself, give me a good life, keep me close to his heart.
I believed him.
At our engagement party, he got drunk and mentioned Cordelia for the first time.
He said she was the one he fell hardest for back in college.
Her family thought he was too poor and forced her to marry some hotel chain owner.
His eyes were red when he told the story, his voice rough.
I tried to comfort him back then.
I thought old flames, no matter how deep, would eventually gather dust once you entered a marriage.
Looking back now, I realize some people walk forward while keeping the past enshrined in their hearts forever.
During the hardest years of his startup, I sold the pastry shop my mother had left me.
It wasn't a big place, but she'd poured her whole life into it.
On her deathbed, she'd held my hand and made me promise to always keep a way out for myself.
I cried as I nodded.
Then I turned around and handed that safety net straight to Grant.
I stayed up with him through everything—renting the first factory, buying the machinery, getting the permits.
I worked at the bank during the day and came home to check his accounts, run reports, answer calls.
After our son was born, I quit my job to hold down the home front.
The company grew. Grant accumulated titles—Chairman, CEO, Entrepreneur of the Year, Industry Leader.
Meanwhile, the only title anyone used for me anymore was Mrs. Thorne.
In my past life, the year Cordelia divorced and came back to the country, Grant was fifty-five.
He started checking himself in the mirror more often. The dark dress shirts in his closet gave way to younger colors.
He smiled at his phone late at night, rescheduled dinners he'd previously declined, and found excuses to drive out on weekends, not coming home until midnight.
I knew exactly what was happening.
I just wanted so badly to keep my family together that I kept making excuses for him.
It wasn't until those divorce papers landed in front of me that I finally saw things clearly.
When someone wanted to leave, their heart checked out long before their feet do.
Three days after the divorce, Grant cleared out everything he'd left in the master bedroom.
He left in such a hurry he forgot his old fountain pen in the study.
Standing in the half-empty closet, I felt a strange sense of relief.
No more snoring at night, no one barking at me for water or pills anymore.
I slept until nine in the morning and woke up to sunlight flooding the bed.
I hadn't felt that kind of ease since before I died the first time.
I went to the mall, cut my hair short, bought two dresses, and called a real estate agent about a storefront on the east side of town.
The location was good—it had a small front and back courtyard, perfect for a pastry shop.
My mom's place had been called Whitmore's Pantry.
I brought the name back.
During the renovations, the neighbors came by to chat.
One recognized me and asked with a smile, "Mrs. Thorne, is this shop for Lance?"
I hiked my sleeves up a little higher, fingers warm and dusted with flour.
"Not for him, and not for any man.
"This one's for me."
On opening day, I baked my first batch of jujube bites and osmanthus cakes.
The fragrance drifted out, and a line quickly formed at the door.
An old neighbor took a bite and got teary-eyed. "This tastes exactly like your mother's."
My nose prickled, and I turned away to wipe the steam off the steamer.
I worked until ten that night, so tired my back was aching and I could barely stand up straight.
Still, my heart felt warm.
When you work for yourself, even hands covered in flour can make your days shine.
Lance called me once.
He got straight to the point, "Is the shop free? Fiona and I are working late tonight. Come pick up Leo."
My smile faded as I held the phone. "Your child, your problem."
Lance clearly didn't expect me to say no, and his voice shot up.
"Fine, take your anger at Dad out on him. But what did the kid do?
"He's called you Grandma his whole life, and now you just wash your hands of him?"
I looked at the blossom pastries fresh from the oven on the counter and said flatly, "Lance, when Grant went chasing after his old flame, you were his biggest cheerleader.
"Now that you're short a free babysitter, don't come to me talking about family feeling."
With that, I hung up.