Ch. Divorce My H 23 Divorce My H 23

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 

1. 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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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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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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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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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.