Chapter 2 : Five Years Later
484 Words
The scent of coffee drifted through the narrow hallway of Dahlia’s apartment as the early morning light filtered through sheer curtains. The same morning routine. The same hum of silence. Except now, there were two mugs on the kitchen counter—one small and cartoon-themed.
“Come on, baby, eat your toast,” Dahlia said, brushing her daughter’s soft curls out of her face.
Five-year-old Iris Hart giggled, kicking her legs under the table. “But Mama, I want strawberry jam, not peanut butter!”
Dahlia smiled, tired but warm. “Peanut butter makes you strong, remember?”
“I want to be pretty, not strong,” Iris declared, crossing her arms with dramatic flair.
“You can be both,” Dahlia said softly. “You are both.”
As she packed Iris’s tiny backpack, Dahlia’s phone buzzed with a notification. Her breath caught when she saw the subject line:
Welcome to Montclair Holdings
She swallowed hard. This was it. A new job. A new beginning. It wasn’t easy to land an interview at Montclair Holdings—one of the top investment firms in the city. She didn’t even know how she made it through the final round. All she knew was: she needed this.
“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her purse and holding out her hand.
Iris slipped her small fingers into hers. “Mama?”
“Yes, love?”
“Do you think my daddy would’ve wanted to walk with us too?”
The question hit her like a wave, even after all these years. Dahlia crouched to meet Iris’s eyes, her smile trembling.
“I think… if he could’ve, he would’ve never let go.”
Iris nodded, satisfied with that answer—for now.
⸻
The Montclair Holdings headquarters towered above the city like a modern-day palace of glass and steel. Dahlia stared up at it from the sidewalk, nerves knotting in her stomach.
This company was a world away from her simple life. She adjusted her blouse, smoothed her hair, and walked in with a confidence she didn’t feel.
Inside, everything gleamed. Marble floors. Polished elevators. Cold air-conditioned perfection.
The receptionist smiled. “First day?”
Dahlia nodded. “Dahlia Hart. I’m here for the finance department.”
“Of course. HR will escort you up shortly.”
As she waited, Dahlia looked around—people in tailored suits passed by, phones pressed to ears, portfolios in hand.
And then she froze.
A tall man walked through the glass doors on the far side of the lobby, flanked by executives. Dark suit. Confident stride. Sharp jawline.
Her heart stopped.
Alaric.
It couldn’t be.
Her breath caught as her eyes widened.
He didn’t glance her way. Didn’t blink. Just walked past like she was nobody.
Like she never existed.
Like he hadn’t once loved her with every quiet, stolen morning kiss.
Like he wasn’t the father of her child.
- Writer
