The Abandoned Wife's Second Chance (Scarlett and Jasper) novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83

(Scarlett’s POV)

I watch him turn a page in the picture book, his voice animated as he does different character voices. The children are hanging on every word.

“People make mistakes,” she continues. “Lord knows I’ve made my share. But marriage isn’t about happily ever after, like they show in TVs these days. Marriage is about companionship, forgiveness, and growth.”

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“Two complete strangers coming together, adjusting and compromising to make their life’s journey easier through companionship and forgiveness, while growing together.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t let resentment come between you. Life’s too short, and love’s too precious.”

I don’t say anything in response to her words, but I contemplate them throughout our visit.

When it’s time to go, the goodbyes take forever. Every child wants one more hug, one more promise that I’ll come back soon. I make those promises carefully this time, meaning every

word.

“Next Saturday?” Jessica asks, holding my hand like she’s afraid I’ll disappear again.

“I’ll be here,” I tell her. And for the first time in four years, I know I will be.

In the parking lot, Jasper and I stand by our cars in the fading daylight. The comfortable silence of the afternoon has given way to something more charged, more uncertain.

“Thank you,” I say finally. “For keeping them connected to me. For not letting them think I’d abandoned them.”

“You didn’t abandon them. You were building a life. They understand that.”

“But you never stopped coming. Even after we…” I can’t finish the sentence.

“Even after I destroyed everything,” he finishes for me. “Yeah. I never stopped coming.”

“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. Then he looks at me with eyes that hold years of regret.

“Because it was the only way I could deal with the pain of losing you.”

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The words hit me like a physical blow. I lean against my car, suddenly dizzy.

“Jasper-”

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“I’m not saying that to pressure you. Or to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because it’s true.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You asked why I kept coming here, why I kept your connection to them alive. That’s why.”

“You could have told me. When we met again, you could have told me you were still doing

this.”

“Would it have changed anything?”

The question hangs in the air between us. Would it have? Would knowing that he spent every Saturday with children who missed me have softened my heart toward him?

I don’t know. But standing here now, watching him unlock his car with hands that have spent four years keeping promises I’d forgotten I’d made, I feel something shift inside my chest.

On the drive back to my apartment, I keep sneaking glances at Jasper. I don’t know what I’m looking for…maybe a glimpse of the man I fell in love with at first sight, or the one I ran away from four years ago…the more time I spend with him, the more and more I feel conflicted.

“You know,” he says as we pull into my parking lot, “I’ve been thinking about what Sister Margaret said. About you teaching the kids to bake.”

I shift in my seat to face him. “What about it?”

“What if we made it happen?” His eyes light up with an enthusiasm I haven’t seen in years. “I could donate some basic equipment – mixers, baking sheets, a few ovens. Nothing fancy, but enough for them to learn.”

The idea catches me off guard. “Jasper…”

“Think about it. You could teach them your techniques, your recipes. They could make their own bread, maybe even sell some of it to bring in income for the orphanage.” He’s talking faster now, the way he used to when he got excited about a project. “They’d learn a valuable skill, something that could help them when they age out of the system.”

Something warm spreads through my chest. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I’ve had four years to think about a lot of things.” His voice goes quiet. “I know I can’t undo the past. But maybe I can help build something better for the future. For them. For you.”

I stare at him, this man who once felt like a stranger wearing my husband’s face. But sitting here now, listening to him talk about giving these kids opportunities, I see glimpses of the

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person I fell in love with all those years ago.

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“I’d need time to prepare,” I say slowly. “Lesson plans, simplified recipes they can handle. And with the mall location just opening, I’m stretched pretty thin.”

“Take all the time you need. A few weeks, a month. Whatever works for you.”

“You’d really do that? Donate all the equipment?”

“Scarlett.” He turns in his seat, meeting my eyes directly. “Those kids love you. And after today, watching you with them… this is what you’re meant to do. Teaching, nurturing, helping people create something beautiful.” He pauses. “I should have seen it years ago.”

My throat feels tight. “Jasper-”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just think about it, okay?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. He gets out to help me get Lily from Chloe, who has just arrived to drop her off. As Jasper lifts Lily carefully from her car seat, she stirs and wraps her small

arms around his neck.

“Daddy,” she mumbles against his shoulder.

“Daddy’s here, baby girl. And I’ll always be here.”

Something clenches in my chest watching them together. The easy way he holds her, the gentleness in his voice. The way she trusts him completely, even half–asleep.

“Thank you,” I say as he hands her to me at my front door. “For today. For… everything.”

“Thank you for coming with me. It meant everything to them. To me.”

After he leaves, I tuck Lily into bed and sit in my kitchen with a cup of tea, thinking about everything that happened today. The successful opening of the mall location. The children at the orphanage. Jasper’s proposal about teaching them to bake.

The way he looked at me when he said some people are worth waiting for.

I’m still thinking about it a week later as I stand in the mall bakery, watching Andrew work through the morning rush. The trial run has been more successful than I could have imagined. Lines form before we even open, and we’re selling out of most items by early afternoon.

“Scarlett,” Andrew calls me over during a brief lull. “Can we talk about the cinnamon bunny bread?”

I join him behind the counter. “What about it?”

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“They’re our biggest seller. Always the first to go.” He wipes his hands on his apron. “But they take forever to make. All that shaping, the double rise time for the texture you want. If we could streamline the process, we could double our output.”

“Streamline how?”

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