<b>Chapter </b><b>31 </b>


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    (ir’s POV)


    My hands shake as I adjust my hijab for the third time in the car mirror. James drums his fingers against the steering wheel, and even Virginia seems nervous, fidgeting with her purse in the backseat.


    “Maybe we should have called first,” I whisper.


    “She would have hung up,” James says tly. “You know she would have.”


    He’s right, and we all know it. Four years of silence doesn’t end with a simple phone call.


    The drive to the bakery feels like going to a funeral. My daughter–because she will always be my daughter, no matter what biology says–is twenty minutes away, and I haven’t seen her face in four years.


    What if she’s changedpletely? What if she looks at me with the same cold hatred I saw in her eyes the day she left?


    What if she never forgives us?


    “There it is,” Virginia says softly from the backseat.


    Sunrise Bakes sits on the corner like a little beacon of warmth. The windows are fogged with steam from fresh bread, and I can see people inside, sitting at small tables with coffee cups and pastries.


    She built this. Our Scarlett built this beautiful thing from nothing.


    “Look at the line,” I breathe, watching customers wait patiently at the counter. “She’s really made something special.”


    James parks across the street, and we all sit there for a moment, staring at the bakery like it might disappear if we look away.


    “I can’t do this,” I whisper suddenly. “What if she calls security? What if she screams at us to leave?”


    “Then we’ll leave,” James says quietly. “But we have to try, ir. We owe her that much.” Virginia leans forward from the backseat, her voice gentle. “She might be more willing to listen if she sees we came together. That we’re united in wanting her back.”


    I nod, trying to gather my courage. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of movement in


    <Chapter 31


    the kitchen behind the counter.


    And then I see her.


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    My breath catches in my throat. Even from across the street, even through steamed windows, I know it’s her. The way she moves, the careful precision <i>as </i>she ces something


    in the disy case.


    She’s wearing a green hijab that brings out her eyes, and an apron that’s dusted with flour. Her face is focused, serious, but there’s something peaceful about her expression that I never saw when she lived with us.


    She looks… content.


    “She’s beautiful,” I whisper, tears already starting. “Look how beautiful she looks.”


    James’s jaw tightens. “She’s working too hard. Look at her hands.”


    I follow his gaze and see what he means. Even from here, I can tell her hands are rough from kneading dough, probably stained permanently with flour and spices.


    Those hands used to be soft. Manicured. She used to care about things like that.


    “She chose this life,” Virginia says carefully. “Maybe she’s happy working with her hands.”


    But I can hear the judgment in her voice, and it makes me bristle. Virginia grew up poor, yes, but she’s never had to work like this. She’s never had to build something from nothing.


    “There’s honor in honest work,” I say sharply.


    “Of course,” Virginia agrees quickly. “I didn’t mean-


    “Let’s just go in,” James interrupts.


    We cross the street in silence, and with each step, my heart pounds harder. What do you say to the daughter you failed? How do you apologize for choosing blood over love?


    The bell above the door chimes as we enter, and the warmth hits us immediately. It smells like cinnamon and butter and something indefinablyforting.


    Home. It smells like home.


    The girl behind the counter–young, maybe college age–smiles at us brightly. “Wee <i>to </i>Sunrise Bakes! What can I get for you today?”


    “Is the owner avable?” James asks, his voice carefully controlled.


    **apter 31


    “Scarlett? She’s in the back, but she’s pretty busy with a big order. Can I help you with


    something?” <fn83d2> This update is avable on F?ndNovel</fn83d2>


    “We’re I start, then stop. What are we? Family? Former family? Strangers who used to love


    her?


    “We’re old friends,” Virginia supplies smoothly. “We’d love to <b>say </b>hello if she has a moment.”


    The girl’s smile wavers slightly. Something in our tension must be showing.


    “Let me check,” she says, disappearing through a doorway marked ‘Kitchen Staff Only:


    We stand there awkwardly, surrounded by the evidence of Scarlett’s sess. The disy cases are full of gorgeous pastries that look almost too beautiful to eat. The walls are decorated with local art and thank–you cards from customers.


    One card catches my eye: “Thank you for the most beautiful wedding cake! You made our day perfect!”


    She’s making wedding cakes now. Other people’s happy endings.


    “ir? James?”


    I turn at the sound of my name, and there she is. My daughter. My beautiful, strong, grown–up daughter. I’m so caught up in taking her in, that I don’t even notice the fact that she didn’t call me Mama like she used to do.


    She’s even more beautiful up close. The years have carved definition into her features, given her a quiet confidence that takes my breath away. But there are shadows under her eyes, and her hands are indeed rough from work.


    “Scarlett,” I breathe, taking a step toward her.


    She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’te closer either. Her eyes flick between James and me, thennd on Virginia with something that might be surprise.


    “What are <i>you </i>doing here?”


    Her voice is calm, controlled. Not angry, exactly, but not weing either.


    “We wanted to see <i>you</i>,” I say, my voice cracking. “We’ve missed you so much.”


    Something flickers across her face–pain, maybe?-but it’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it.


    “Have you?”


    The question is quiet, but it cuts deep.


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    “Of course we have,” James says, stepping forward. “You’re our daughter, Scarlett. You’ll always be our daughter.”


    She lets out a sound that might be augh, but there’s no humor in it.


    “Really? Because four years ago, you seemed pretty eager to rece me.”


    “That’s not what happened-”


    “Isn’t it?” She looks at Virginia, who’s been unusually quiet since we arrived. “Congrattions, by the way. I heard you finally got everything you wanted.”


    Virginia’s face crumples. “Scarlett, I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to take your ce.”


    “No? Then what did you want, Virginia?”


    The question hangs in the air. Virginia opens her mouth, closes it, then looks helplessly at James and me.


    “She wanted her family,” James says firmly. “Her biological family. Is that so wrong?” “No,” Scarlett says quietly. “But pushing out the daughter who loved you for twenty–three years to make room for the one who shares your DNA? White–washing the fact that her husband abandoned her pregnant on a highwayte at night? That was wrong.”


    The words hit and I want to protest, to exin, to make her understand that we never stopped loving her.


    But will she believe me? When Virginia came back into our lives, when we found out she was our biological daughter, didn’t we get swept up in the joy of it? Didn’t we forget, for a while, that the daughter we raised for twenty years got abandoned while pregnant on a highway for our biological daughter?


    “We made mistakes,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Terrible mistakes. But we love you, Scarlett. We’ve always loved you.”


    “You have a funny way of showing love,” she says, and the pain in her voice breaks my heart. “Cutting off my credit cards to force me toe home. Never calling to see if I was okay. Not even trying to find me when I left.”


    “We did try-”


    “No, you didn’t.” Her voice is stronger now, more certain. “You waited for me toe crawling


    < Chapter 31


    back. All of you. You thought I couldn’t survive without you,”


    She’s right. God help us, she’s right.


    “But look,” she continues, gesturing around the bakery. “I did survive. I built this. I made a life for myself on my own without any help from you.”


    Pride swells in my chest despite the pain. She did this. Our brilliant, strong daughter did all of this on her own. She built herself a life without the help of her Mama or Baba.


    “It’s beautiful,” I say, meaning it. “You should be proud.”


    “I am proud.” Her chin lifts slightly. “For the first time in my life, I’m proud of who I am.”


    The words cut deeper than any anger could have. Because they mean that when she was with us, she wasn’t proud. She felt small, worthless, less than.


    How did we fail her so badly?


    <i>” </i>


    M


    Violet Moon


    #Vote#!