The Abandoned Wife's Second Chance (Scarlett and Jasper) novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15

(Jasper’s POV)

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“Welcome to Sunrise Bakes!” a childish voice greets me as soon as I enter the shop.

A little girl, no more than four years old, stands on a wooden stool that puts her at perfect height to see over the register. Her dark hair is pulled back in two neat braids, and she’s wearing a tiny apron that’s clearly been hemmed to fit her small frame.

“What can I get for you today?” she asks.

My throat goes dry. Something about the way she tilts her head when she speaks, makes me freeze for a second.

“I…” I clear my throat. “I’m not sure what you’d recommend.”

She claps her hands together, eyes lighting up. “Everything’s good! But the honey wheat bread is the best seller. Mama makes it fresh every morning.”

Mama. My chest tightens.

I crouch down to her level, studying her face. Big brown eyes framed by dark lashes. A stubborn little chin. I’ve never seen such a cute little girl before.

“You help your mama run this place?”

She nods proudly. “I greet the customers. And help count the money sometimes, but only the big coins ‘cause the little ones are too tricky.”

Despite everything, I smile. “That’s a very important job.”

“I know.” She grins, then gets serious again. “So do you want the honey wheat? It’s really, really good. Like, the best bread in the whole world.”

“If you say so.” I stand up, watching as she carefully climbs down from her stool and walks over to the bread display. She’s so small she has to stand on her tiptoes to reach the loaf, her tongue poking out in concentration.

This is exactly how old my child would be now. Four years, three months. Old enough to have real conversations, to help in a bakery, to charm customers with that gap–toothed smile.

If Scarlett hadn’t taken our baby and disappeared.

“Here you go!” The little girl presents the bread like it’s a precious gift. “Mama says this one has honey from the farm down the road, and it makes everything taste like sunshine.”

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I take the loaf, and the weight of it feels familiar in my hands. When I tear off a small piece and taste it, the world stops.

It’s her. It’s Scarlett’s recipe, down to the last grain of salt. The same bread she used to make on Sunday mornings, filling our kitchen with the smell of home. The bread I’d find cooling on the counter when I came home late from work, wrapped in a tea towel with a note saying she hoped I’d had a good day.

My vision blurs. “This is… exceptional.”

“I told you so!” The little girl beams. “Mama’s the best baker in the whole world. She makes everything taste like love.”

Like love. That’s exactly what this tastes like. Like Scarlett’s hands kneading dough at five in the morning, like her humming while she worked, like the way she’d dust flour off her fingers before kissing me goodbye.

“Where…” I have to clear my throat again. “Where is your mama now?”

“She’s in the back kitchen, making more bread ‘cause we sold out of the cinnamon ones.” The little girl points toward a doorway behind the counter. “Do you want me to get her?”

Yes. God, yes. Every cell in my body is screaming yes.

But what if I’m wrong? What if this is just some cruel coincidence, another dead end in four years of searching?

“That’s okay,” I manage. “I don’t want to disturb her while she’s working.”

The bell chimes again as new customers enter, and the little girl’s attention immediately shifts. “Welcome to Sunrise Bakes!” she calls out, already moving toward them with that same professional enthusiasm.

I walk toward the back of the bakery, my heart hammering against my ribs. Through the doorway, I can see flour–dusted counters and industrial ovens. The sound of someone moving around, the scrape of a pan against metal.

This is it. After four years of searching, of flying to different cities, of hiring investigators who came back empty–handed. This could be the moment I finally find her.

I’m three steps from the kitchen when a woman emerges, wiping her hands on her apron.

My heart stops.

She’s about the right height, with dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. But when she looks up, I see unfamiliar green eyes and a face I’ve never seen before.

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“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She smiles apologetically. “Are you looking for something specific? Lily usually handles the front, but I can help if you need anything.”

The disappointment hits like a physical blow. Of course it’s not her. Of course I’m still chasing ghosts.

“No, I…” I force a smile. “Your daughter sold me some bread. She’s very good at her job.”

The woman laughs. “She’s not mine, actually. I just work here. But yes, Lily’s amazing. Her mother should be proud.”

“Right.” I nod, feeling foolish. “Well, thank you.”

I walk back toward the front, where the little girl–Lily–is still charming customers. She

waves at me as I pass.

“Come back soon!” she calls. “Mama’s making chocolate chip cookies tomorrow!”

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