Chapter 23
I never thought happiness could feel this
quiet.
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It wasn’t loud, or overwhelming. It was soft-
the kind that whispered at the corners of my
days and wrapped around me when I least
expected it. Like now, as I stood under the
northern lights with Mateo’s arms around me,
the world felt smaller, but safer.
The sky danced in waves of green and violet,
a celestial curtain shifting above us. I gasped
when the colors shimmered briahter. like the
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stars themselves were applauding this new
chapter of our life.
“You like it?” Mateo whispered into my ear,
his chin resting gently on my shoulder.
I nodded, leaning into him. “It’s magic.”
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He kissed the side of my head, and we stood
in silence, our breath rising in the cold
Alaskan air, our hearts finally at peace.
This was our honeymoon. Simple. Quiet. Just
- us. No drama. No pain.
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Just peace.
A few days later, we were walking near a
snowy path when I heard soft whimpers. Two
tiny dogs–abandoned, dirty, and shaking-
peeked out from behind a tree.
“Oh my God,” I said, rushing over.
They were shivering, and their eyes were
pleading.
“We can’t leave them,” I told Mateo instantly.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
He didn’t even hesitate. “Of course not.”
And just like that, we became a family of four.
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We named them Choco and Cream, because
the brown and white patches reminded me of
the pastries I used to bake. And for the first
time in years, I started to miss baking again.
Not the business side. Not perfectionism.
Just the joy.
By the time we returned from our
honeymoon, the dogs had already claimed
our hearts–and half our bed.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
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But what truly shocked me was the little sign
Mateo had installed right outside a quaint
little corner shop on one of the city’s quiet
streets.
Trina’s Oven
“What is this?” I blinked, already tearing up as
I stepped out of the car and stared at the little
bakery storefront.
He looked down, suddenly sheepish. “It’s
yours. I figured… if you ever wanted to go
back to baking–not because you have to-
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
but because you love it. It’s fully equipped,
designed the way you used to sketch it.”
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I stood there frozen for a moment, hand to my
mouth.
Then I threw my arms around him. “You
remembered everything.”
“I remember everything about you,” he
whispered.
So I started baking again.
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Not for stress. Not for money. Just for love.
And slowly, the scent of sugar and cinnamon
started to fill my days again.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
I opened the shop to the public after three
months of careful planning. My hands shook
when I turned the sign to “Open.” It felt like
starting over, but this time, I wasn’t alone.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
On the very first day, as I arranged the
pastries in the glass display, I heard the soft
jingle of the doorbell.
“Welcome to—” I looked up and froze.
Zane. With a bouquet of flowers in his tiny
hands, and behind him, Tania–her eyes
glistening with nervous hope.
“Hi, grandma,” Zane said softly. “I got you
these.”
My heart twisted, aching in ways I didn’t
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expect.
“Hi,” I whispered.
He handed the flowers with a little smile.
“Can we buy cookies?”
I blinked, and I don’t know what came over
me, but I leaned down and pulled him into a
hug. He smelled like crayons and sunshine.
Tania stepped forward, still quiet.
“I didn’t expect you to forgive me,” she said. “I
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don’t know if I deserve to be here… but I just
wanted to say thank you–for this second
chance… even if it’s just a cookie at a time.”
I gave her a small nod. “I’m not ready for
everything. But this? This is a start.”
Zane tugged on my apron. “Can I have the
one with the smiley face?”
I smiled, really smiled. “You can have two.”
Later that night, after closing the shop and
tucking Choco and Cream into their dog
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beds, I walked into our kitchen where Mateo
was sipping wine and reading a book.
He looked up. “First day went well?”
“It did,” I said, sitting beside him. “Zane and
Tania came.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And…?”
“And it was okay.”
I leaned against his shoulder.
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“It’s not perfect. But it’s peaceful. And I think
that’s enough.”
He kissed my forehead. “You’re more than
enough.”
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We sat in silence, with the smell of baked
goods lingering in the air, and the soft hum of
jazz playing from the old radio in the corner.
This wasn’t the life I had once imagined.
It was better.
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Not because it was perfect–but because I
had earned it.
The heartbreak, the betrayal, the pain–it
didn’t define me anymore.
I had Mateo.
I had my dogs.
I had a bake shop.
And somehow, little by little, I was reclaiming
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the pieces of myself that I thought I had lost
forever.
was home.
