Second Chance

A man said

This chapter contains fictional locations in real-life cities. Don't bother with the research.

Meadow Street is where it all started – the first spot to have a restaurant.

And that's in Los Angeles!

Summer Chills is the only place in town that opens its doors only during the summer and shuts down for the winter.

I wasn't too thrilled about how they seemed so eager to cater to tourists while looking down on the locals who just wanted a doughnut.

When I got to the counter, I pointed at a waffle on the menu and said, 'Three,' to the first worker I saw.

She turned to chat with her coworker and muttered 'Glutton' under her breath.

I rolled my eyes at her comment; I really didn't care.

I settled into a chair, thinking I had found some kind of escape in this little corner. I picked up my phone from the table, taking a deep breath.

It was time to make the call.

As soon as I dialled, the phone answered with a hesitant 'Hi?'

"Good afternoon", I replied, being formal didn't taste as bitter as I thought it would.

The call ended abruptly as I just stood there in shock, trying to figure out what the heck was happening. Did I dial the wrong number, or wasn't I supposed to call him?

Then a message popped up on my screen with an address—perfect timing!

Once I sorted out Lidgleton's cash issues, my only goal was to get out of the city and live life on my own terms.

No controlling husband, overbearing in-laws, or random drama every single day.

Just me and my best friend.

Oh, and the little one in her.

As I glanced around the restaurant, I saw people laughing, eating, and just enjoying life. I wanted that—an annoying boss, colleagues I could actually talk to.

Things I could do, like picking up new hobbies, going on trips, or even taking long walks with a dog.

The highs and lows are what make life interesting.

I strolled to the exit, paid for my waffles, and practically bolted out of there.

The message read, "Apartment 7B, 1429 Silvercrest Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90026."

That's where I was headed.

It was a very, very small house.

Like the kind of small things you see in cartoons where a grandmother and a small kid live, but it's supposedly a house.

I tried to knock, but the door already seemed quite fallen apart; if I had slightly touched it, it might have crumbled to pieces.

"Is anyone here?" I screamed, hoping they could hear me from here. No one appeared as I simply stood there.

I had expected it to be an apartment based on the message, but it was just this place with words written boldly on it.

APARTMENT 7B

Before long, the door creaked open, and I heard a voice that was all too recognisable.

"Hey, Dad! She's here!" the boy called out, stepping aside for me to come in.

I held his gaze for a moment, and he gave me a snarl before heading inside without saying anything. I leaned towards the door, catching a glimpse of the beat-up piano and the throw pillows sprawled all over the place.

The place looked like an old museum with its artefacts and paintings—everything was a bit battered and worn, but you could still see how beautiful it once was.

"I can tell you’re impressed," a guy’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, his footsteps echoing as he walked over.

"I really am," I replied, finally catching a good look at him.

It turned out to be the boy’s dad.

"Thanks for coming," he said, giving my shoulder a friendly squeeze as he moved to my left.

"Wait, why am I the one getting thanked? You’re the one who's tryna pay all that cash," I said, feeling a little puzzled by his thanks.

He urged me to come in, nodding as I walked in, the little boy rushed towards him, grabbing his hand.

We settled on the couch, which may have seen better days, but it was still comfier than any sofa my butt had ever seen.

"I don't have coffee or tea, I'm sorry, " he said, a sad look staining his smile. "Unless you can take day-old doughnuts."

"A day-old?!", I exclaimed, unsatisfied. "I prefer my doughnuts to have seen decades". He fell laughing, slightly hitting his son.

"Get her one, please, my love, " he said to the boy as he smiled widely, rushing into the house.

"You probably found that cringy, right?, He scratched his neck nervously, embarrassed by his words. "I know it's more of something a mother may call her daughter or something for couples but when I say it....It makes him know he's loved".

Did you really just say the cutest thing I've seen all day is probably... cringy?" I sighed, feeling let down as I rubbed my palm on his forehead.

"You okay?" I asked, moving my hand to his neck to check if he felt too hot or too cold; a cold could definitely mess with your head.

He took my hands gently and placed them in my lap. "Yes, Ma'am! I promise I’ll think clearly from now on."

"Alright, let’s get to the important stuff so I don’t fall for your charm," I nudged him, hoping this wouldn’t end up being another wasted effort for me. He better not be joking about that 3.5 billion.

When the doughnuts showed up, he cleared his throat, probably getting ready to talk.

"Let’s skip the small talk, but don’t I look familiar?" he asked, as if he was hinting at something I should already know.

"Honestly, the only person I can think of when I see you, aside from you, is my late husband. I mean... wow, I shouldn’t have said that. I'm really sorry.

I bent my head, why would I actually tell someone they look like my dead husband?!, I could just feel the tension rising between us.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I know I look like your late husband, I’m his younger brother anyway.

And that’s when the doughnut dropped.

“What are you talking about? I’m really not in the mood to laugh—” He interrupted me, quickly pulling out a small photo from his back pocket.

He handed it over, insisting it was the real deal.

On one side, there was a kid in glasses who looked exactly like this guy, and on the other side was another kid with pretty long brown hair.

He didn’t just resemble Oscar; I was sure he was Oscar.

“Okay, let's say you really are his brother. Why are you helping me? Doesn’t your family hate me?” I asked, feeling lost.

They had told me before that I was the one who killed Oscar.

It would be nice if they stuck to that story.

“Mrs Millers,” he said, “she took a hit from the toughest fighter out there—life itself.”

“Mrs Millers… hit by life? Come on, I know the Millers are loaded, so be specific because we both know it’s not about being broke.”

He grinned, "Of course not. But she realised there would be no one for her when she's weak, when she can't do anything on her own" He looked at the floor, then at my face. "The thought made her tremble".

"She paid all the debts a long time ago, " he continued. "She just wanted you to meet me, so she asked Louis for help".

I adjusted myself on the sofa, turning to get a better view, "So you're saying that the money has been paid off, and these kidnaps and threats were just a charade?"

He nodded backing up, fear in his eyes. "I didn't orchestrate anything; she wanted all this because she didn't believe she was worthy to see you again. She asked Louis to make you meet me, and this was the only way.

I moved closer, gripping his sleeves as he tried to increase our distance, "What does she mean by this was the only way?!, You could've found me and talked to me like a normal being!".

"I'm sorry, " he replied, "I don't know why my mother likes drama.

I took a deep breath, loosening my grip on his sleeves.

"She hopes you can forgive her, " he said.

"Mrs Millers?"

He nodded a bit, "She says she wants to be a good person, and she wants to start with you. She hopes you can forgive her."

"I can't trust the enemy, but that doesn't mean I won't try", I rubbed my hands together. "Tell her that".

"Noted, " he replied.

I got up to leave. Our conversation wasn't as formal as I thought it would; it felt like home. Comfortable.

"Wait, Mrs Millers, could you babysit my kid on Saturdays?"