The Abandoned Wife's Second Chance (Scarlett and Jasper) novel Chapter 14

Key trembling in hand, I unlock the door for the first time as the owner. The sign above my head gleams in the morning sun–my name, my dream, all coming to life.

The smell of fresh–baked bread fills the air. I’ve been here since four AM, pulling batch after batch from the ovens. Cinnamon rolls golden and perfect, sourdough loaves with crispy crusts, chocolate croissants that would make a Parisian chef weep.

Everything has to be perfect. This is my shot at a new start.

“Mama, can I flip the sign?” Lily bounces on her toes, pointing to the “Closed” sign in the

window.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.”

She turns it to “Open” and grins like she’s just launched a rocket to the moon. My brave little girl, who helped me paint these walls, who swept flour off the floor without being asked, who believes in me even when I don’t believe in myself.

“Here we go,” I breathe.

The first customer walks in before I can even get behind the counter.

“Oh my goodness,” she gasps, looking around at the warm lighting and display cases full of pastries. “This is beautiful. When did you open?”

“Today. Right now, actually.”

“Well then, I’m your very first customer!” She claps her hands together. “What do you

recommend?”

Pride swells in my chest as I point to my signature items. “The honey wheat bread is made with local ingredients. The cinnamon rolls are my specialty–I developed the recipe myself. And those chocolate croissants are made with Belgian chocolate.”

She orders one of everything.

By ten AM, there’s a line out the door. Word spreads fast in this neighborhood, and apparently, good food spreads even faster. My phone buzzes constantly with notifications- someone posted about us on social media, and it’s already being shared.

“Scarlett, I can’t keep up!” calls Maya, my part–time baker, from behind the counter.

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< Chapter 14

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“I’m coming!” I rush over with a fresh tray of muffins. “Chloe, can you help ring people up?”

“On it!” Chloe grabs the register, but in her excitement, she trips over the step stool I left out. Papers fly everywhere as she catches herself on the counter.

“You okay?”

“Fine, fine! Just my usual grace,” she laughs, scrambling to pick up the scattered receipts.

Meanwhile, Lily has appointed herself official greeter. She stands by the door in her little apron, saying “Welcome to Mama’s bakery!” to everyone who walks in. Customers can’t get enough of her.

“She’s adorable,” an older woman says, pulling out her phone. “Can I take a picture? This is so

sweet.”

“Of course.”

Before I know it, half the customers are taking photos. Of the bakery, of the food, of Lily

being the most charming three–year–old in existence.

The lunch rush hits like a tidal wave. Office workers from nearby buildings, stay–at–home parents with their kids, construction workers who heard about us from the morning crowd. I’m pulling sandwich ingredients as fast as I can when I hear Chloe yelp.

“Lily, no!”

I look up to see my daughter with chocolate all over her face, a half–eaten croissant in her hands. She’s sitting cross–legged on the floor behind the counter, looking completely content.

“I was hungry,” she says matter–of–factly.

“She grabbed it when nobody was looking,” Chloe says, but she’s trying not to laugh. “I turn

around for two seconds…”

“It’s fine. She’s been working hard too.” I wet a napkin and clean Lily’s face. “But next time, ask Mama first, okay?”

A customer at the counter pulls out her phone. “This is too cute. Can I post this? The little owner sneaking treats from her own bakery?”

“Sure.”

Within an hour, that photo has a hundred likes. By evening, it’s in the thousands. #CutestBaker is trending locally, and my phone won’t stop buzzing with online orders.

“This is insane,” Chloe says as we finally lock up at closing time. “Look at this.” She shows

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me her phone screen–review after review, all five stars.

“The bread here is incredible. Like nothing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Hidden gem! Best bakery in the city.”

“The owner is so sweet, and her daughter is precious.”

I sink into a chair, exhausted but glowing. “We did it.”

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“You did it,” Chloe corrects. “This is all you, Scarlett. Four years ago, you could barely get out

of bed. Now look.”

I look around my bakery–empty display cases, flour scattered on every surface, chairs pushed in for the night. It’s messy and chaotic and absolutely perfect.

This is mine. I built this.

“Mama, are we rich now?” Lily asks, curled up on the bench by the window.

“No, habibti, it’ll take a while for us to become rich. But better than that, we now have something to rely on.”

(Jasper’s POV)

Another month passes, and I’m still nowhere near finding Scarlett.

Grabbing the tray Mrs. Patterson sat on the table, I take a bite of the honey loaf, and something inside my chest tightens. The texture, the subtle sweetness, the way it melts on my tongue–it’s familiar in a way that makes my hands shake.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Mrs. Patterson looks up from wiping down the kitchen counter. “There’s a new bakery on Main Street. Sunrise Bakes. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“When did it open?”

“About a month ago. The line was so long I almost didn’t wait, but the smell…” She sighs happily. “I haven’t had bread this good since my grandmother’s kitchen.”

I stare down at the loaf in my hands. The crust is golden–brown, perfectly baked. When I press it gently, it springs back just right.

“The owner must be very skilled,” I say carefully.

“Oh

yes.

And she has the sweetest little girl. About three years old, maybe four. Helps her

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