His Choice
798 Words
The weekend slipped by too easily. By Sunday afternoon, the warmth of laughter still lingered in Suzie’s home, but Monday came with a sharper edge. Richard’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
He ignored the first few calls. By the sixth, he sighed and stepped outside to answer.
“Father,” he greeted, voice guarded.
“Richard, do you realize how many times I’ve called?” came the deep, clipped tone. “The board is worried. You’ve missed two briefings. And that nonsense in the papers, people saw you in Brooklyn. Brooklyn, Richard! What are you doing there?”
Richard leaned against the wall, jaw tightening. “Visiting someone who matters.”
A cold pause. “You mean her, don’t you? The baker’s girl.”
“Her name is Suzie.”
“Your mother and I built an empire, Richard. Don’t throw it away for sentiment.”
Richard hung up before anger could spill out.
Inside, Suzie was helping Amelia frost cookies, unaware of the storm waiting on his phone. When he came back, his smile was calm, too calm.
Amelia offered him a cookie. “You look tired,” she said innocently.
He crouched beside her, managing a soft grin. “Maybe just thinking too much.”
But Suzie saw it in his eyes, the weight that had followed him for years.
Richard’s family hadn’t changed. And if history was about to repeat itself, she knew love alone wouldn’t be enough to stop it.
The next few days passed in uneasy calm. Richard tried to balance both worlds, the suits and boardrooms that demanded his focus, and the small, flour-dusted bakery where his heart seemed to rest.
But peace never lasted long in the world he came from.
On Thursday afternoon, Suzie was restocking shelves when a sleek black car stopped outside the bakery. A woman stepped out, elegant, composed, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
“Can I help you?” Suzie asked, brushing her hands on her apron.
The woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You must be Suzie. I’m Eleanor Hale, Richard’s mother.”
For a moment, Suzie’s breath caught. She’d imagined this woman countless times, but never like this, standing in her small shop, surrounded by sugar and warmth that clearly didn’t belong to her world.
“I came to see what’s been distracting my son,” Eleanor said lightly. “And to understand why he’s throwing away everything for… this.”
Suzie straightened, her voice steady. “This is his choice.”
Eleanor’s gaze swept the room, the trays, the humble walls, the laughter faintly echoing from the kitchen. “My dear,” she said softly, almost pitying, “Choices have consequences. Especially when one forgets where they belong.”
When she left, the bell chimed as softly as a warning.
That night, Richard arrived late, still smelling faintly of rain and city air. One look at Suzie’s face, and his expression hardened.
“She came here, didn’t she?”
Suzie nodded. “Your mother doesn’t approve.”
He exhaled slowly, guilt flickering in his eyes. “She never did.”
And at that moment, they both knew, the past hadn’t just come knocking. It had walked right in.
Richard didn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Suzie standing in the bakery doorway, calm but shaken, and his mother’s face behind her, cold and elegant as marble.
By morning, he’d made up his mind.
He arrived at his parents’ penthouse just after sunrise. The air inside was thick with quiet luxury: polished floors, the scent of fresh lilies, silence that expected obedience.
His father looked up from the newspaper. “You’ve decided to face us.”
“I came to say this once,” Richard said, voice low but steady. “Suzie and Amelia are part of my life. That isn’t changing.”
His mother’s expression softened only slightly. “Richard, we aren’t your enemies. We just want what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me,” he said, “wasn’t decided in this house.”
His father set the paper down, tone cool. “You’re risking the company’s image. Do you want to lose everything?”
Richard met his gaze. “I already did once. I’m not doing it again.”
A heavy pause filled the room. His mother’s hand trembled slightly before she folded it back into grace.
“Then you’ve made your choice,” his father said finally.
Richard turned toward the door. “No,” he murmured. “I’ve just stopped letting you make it for me.”
When he left, the city outside felt colder, but freer.
And somewhere across Brooklyn, in a small bakery with flour-dusted windows, someone was waiting, without knowing how much had just changed for them both.
- Writer
