Chapter 2 - The Bakery on 4th StreetThe soft, golden light of the small bakery on 4th Street smelled of fresh yeast, melted butter, and cinnamon.
I stood outside beneath the canvas awning, watching through the rain-streaked window.
Inside, at a small corner wooden table, sat Naomi. She wore a faded navy coat, her dark hair pinned up loosely, her gentle hazel eyes tired but filled with an fierce, protective warmth as she watched the five-year-old twins share their croissant.
Theo, clutching his battered drawing notebook, was carefully pointing at a sketch of Saturn, explaining planetary rings to Eli, who raised his left eyebrow in intense concentration before taking a bite.
My heart hammered violently against my ribs. Tears burned behind my eyes—tears of a father realizing the sheer magnitude of the years he had lost.
I pushed the glass door open. The brass bell chimed overhead.
Naomi didn't look up immediately. "We'll be out in a minute, Mr. Gable, just letting the boys finish—"
She stopped. Her hazel eyes lifted, locking onto my six-foot-two figure standing in the doorway in my dark tailored suit.
The color drained from her face so fast she looked as if she had seen a ghost. Her fork slipped from her trembling fingers, clattering loudly against her plate.
"P-Preston...?" Naomi whispered, her voice shaking like a leaf in a gale.
"Mommy, who is the tall man?" Eli asked, his hazel eyes looking from my face to hers.
I took three slow, deliberate steps toward their table, dropping flat onto my knees right on the worn wooden floorboards beside her chair. I didn't care about the rain on my suit or the eyes of the baker. I looked up into Naomi’s pale, exquisite face, my hands trembling as I reached out toward her cold fingers.
"Naomi," I choked out, a raw sob breaking through my chest. "I know about the letters. I know about the calls. I know about Theo and Eli."
Naomi flinched as if struck. Her eyes filled with hot, bitter tears, her hands pulling back to pull the two boys behind her chair.
"Get out, Preston," Naomi gasped, her voice laced with an agonizing mix of terror and defensive fury. "Your mother warned me five years ago that if I ever came near you or your money, she would use your legal team to take my boys away from me! You threw me out once... don't do this to them!"
"My mother is finished, Naomi," I declared, my baritone steadying into an absolute, iron promise that shook the room. "She intercepted every letter. She hid your pregnancy from me. But I found my father's letter today. I know what she did to your father twenty years ago."
Naomi went stone-still. Her jaw sagged open, her tears halting in pure, disbelieving shock. "What... what did you say about my father?"
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I reached into my coat, placing my late father's handwritten letter flat onto the wooden table between us.
"Read it, Naomi," I whispered, looking up at my twin sons, who were staring at me with wide, curious eyes. "And then come home with me. You and our sons will never suffer another day in this life."
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