Four years later
The boutique smelled like sandalwood and citrus—my favorite. The soft music hummed in the background as I folded a silk blouse near the window display. Outside, the city buzzed in late afternoon light, just like it always did. Life went on, relentlessly, beautifully, imperfectly.
And me? I had never felt more alive.
"Mommy, look!"
A tiny voice pulled me from my thoughts.
My son came running toward me, all legs and curls, holding a crumpled drawing in his hands like it was a piece of treasure. His eyes—those same hazel eyes I once got lost in—lit up as he crashed into my knees.
I knelt to his level, brushing back his wild hair. "What did you draw this time?"
"A rocket ship!" he beamed. "And me and you. We go to space."
I laughed softly, eyes misting. "We already did, baby. You and me—we went to the moon and back."
He blinked up at me, confused, and I kissed his cheek before standing. A soft knock sounded at the glass door. I turned my head and saw a familiar figure outside—tall, poised, dressed in a dark tailored coat.
Denzel.
He stepped in with quiet ease, holding a paper bag.
"Hey," he said, voice warmer than I remembered.
"Hey."
He knelt without a word, letting our son run straight into his arms. I watched them quietly. Denzel wasn't around all the time—but when he was, he was present. Gentle. Thoughtful. The kind of father who showed up to preschool art shows and birthday cakes, even when it was hard for him to say the words he never learned to say as a child.
He looked up at me. "I brought his favorite."
I took the bag from him, fingers brushing. "Thanks."
"I heard you're expanding."
"Maybe," I smiled. "Small steps."
"I'm proud of you."
The words came so softly, I almost didn't catch them. I met his eyes for a beat too long. There were still things unspoken between us—but I wasn't looking for closure anymore. I'd found it in myself.
He rose and nodded. "I'll pick him up on Sunday?"
"Yeah," I said. "That's fine."
Our son grabbed his coat and waved. "Bye, Mommy! Love you!"
"I love you more," I called back, heart swelling.
Denzel held the door open for him, then turned one last time. "You look happy, Star."
"I am."
He nodded. "Good."
And then they were gone.
I stood alone in the soft light of my store, holding a paper rocket ship in one hand and my heart in the other.
Once upon a time, I thought love had to look a certain way. Loud. Sweeping. Final.
But now I knew—it could be soft. Quiet. It could live in the way you rise from pain and still choose to bloom.
My life wasn't perfect.
But it was mine.
And I was proud of the woman I'd become.
From gold-digger rumors to girl boss reality, I made it.
For me.
For him.
For us.
Always in bloom.
— The End