Chapter 1
I discovered a shocking secret while delivering coffee to my poker-faced boss Kenneth Howell.
On his desk stood a framed photo. The woman in it had short hair, red lips, and an effortlessly stylish, sensual charm.
I stared at the photo, frozen, because I saw that woman every single day.
Even the little mole under her eye was in the same place, the same size, just like the woman I knew.
It was my mother.
Kenneth noticed my gaze and frowned in displeasure. One sharp look from him made me step back instinctively.
"How long do you plan to stare at it?" he asked.
*****
Kenneth Howell raised his brow and picked up his coffee with one hand, the steam swirling around his always-cold eyes.
Damn, he was hot. He and Mom would totally be a power couple.
Farrah Duncan really was something.
"I didn't see a thing, Mr. Howell. You should get some rest," I said.
I gave him a polite smile and left the office.
As soon as I stepped out, I whipped out my phone and called Farrah.
"Hey, Mom, is he still refusing to sign?" I asked.
"He's such a jerk. Don't worry, Mom. I'll take care of it. By the way, do you have any photos from when you were younger? Send me one, okay?" I said.
"What for? Is it a crime to keep a photo of my stunning mom with me?" I joked.
"Cool, I'll grab it after work. Make sure it's the one with short hair, red lips, and that sexy vibe!" I added.
The next day, there was a photo of a stunning woman sitting on my desk, sticking out like a sore thumb among all the good luck charms. Kenneth's eyes locked onto it the instant he stepped out of the meeting.
He froze for a second, then marched straight over to me.
His presence was so intense, it felt like the air itself was charged.
My coworkers all held their breath, but I was a bundle of nerves and anticipation.
"Where'd you get this photo?" Kenneth demanded.
I got called into his office alone, and my lunch buddy shot me a terrified look, like I was heading straight for the chopping block.
But honestly, inside I was practically bouncing with excitement.
"Did you stan Gentle Breeze too?" Kenneth asked.
"Huh?" I blinked.
What was Gentle Breeze?
My brain was still trying to catch up when Kenneth strode straight to the office safe, opened it up, and pulled out an envelope.
Inside was a whole stack of photos, every single one of the same woman.
There was Farrah, young and vibrant, sometimes leaning against a wall with a carefree smile, sometimes hunched over a guitar, lost in the music.
I was floored. Did Mom ever smile like that?
All I could remember was her in that cramped kitchen, chopping, washing, cooking, day in, day out, year after year.
The dim kitchen light had been with her for years, and I never knew she used to shine on stage.
"So, are you prying into my privacy?" Kenneth's voice was ice-cold.
My hand shook as I pointed to Farrah's chest in the photo.
A small silver cross hung from a thin black cord.
I pulled out the silver cross from under my shirt.
"She's my mom," I muttered.
The room went dead silent. For the first time since I started here, Kenneth looked totally stunned, like his brain had just short-circuited.
I pulled up a recent selfie with Farrah, and Kenneth just stared at her smiling eyes on my screen, lost in it for what felt like forever.
My arm was killing me from holding up the phone, so I tried to lower it, but Kenneth reached out and held it up himself.
He just kept staring, like he couldn't get enough.
"I didn't get a good look. Let me get a better look," he said.
He was practically leaning in, like he wanted to crawl right into the screen.
His cold, refined cologne drifted over, radiating that high-powered executive vibe.
Nothing like Josh Harrison, my father, who just sat around playing cards and scrolling on his phone all day.
When Josh was in a bad mood, he wouldn't even bother to shower. The stench of cigarettes, booze, and sweat clung to him, like he was a walking biohazard.
When I was little, Farrah would sometimes slip into my bed in the dead of night, wrap her arms around me, and whisper complaints about Josh. Her eyes would carry that quiet, exhausted sadness as she poured her heart out to a child she believed was too young to understand.
She assumed I couldn't comprehend any of it, and she was right. At the time, I didn't. But every sentence stayed with me.
Years later, when I finally grew up, I understood everything.
If Josh had been born a decade later, he could kneel before every god in existence and still never deserve a woman like Farrah.
If the older generation hadn't interfered, arranged, persuaded, and quietly cornered her into that marriage, her life could have followed a completely different path.
I had always suspected as much. And when I saw Kenneth's hidden collection of Farrah's old photographs, every doubt disappeared.
With her beauty, even the most desirable men in town would have had to line up just for the privilege of courting her.
"Is she... doing well?" Kenneth asked.
He released my phone. The cold edge in his gaze softened, replaced by a trace of wistful emotion.
For a moment, an entire complicated, bittersweet love story unfolded in my imagination, and I was just about to answer.
When Kenneth added, "If you see her, ask her whether she still remembers the guy she knocked unconscious in an alley."
He paused, then continued casually, "It's been years, but I still expect her to pay my medical bills. And I'm not letting her dodge that apology either."