Chapter 6 SANDRA

The warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon curled through the air, drifting from the ovens in the back kitchen of Sweet Haven-my bakery. Morning sunlight streamed through the small windows above the shelves, casting golden beams across flour-dusted counters and glinting off silver mixing bowls.

I stood at the center table, apron streaked with dough and chocolate, my hands deep in a fresh batch of bread. Each knead was a rhythm, a quiet joy thrumming through my arms.

Laughter bubbled in the background, blending with the gentle hum of mixers.

"Mommy, look!" Lily giggled, balancing a cupcake on her nose before it slipped and landed frosting-first on the floor.

"No running in the kitchen!" I called, half-laughing as I brushed a stray curl from my cheek.

At the prep table, Liam stood beside one of my bakers, proudly placing sugared strawberries onto a tray of mini tarts. He wore a tiny apron and gloves two sizes too big.

"Working here is really fun," he said, grinning. "Can I do this every day?"

A baker chuckled. "Only if you keep those sticky fingers out of the cream bowl."

"But the cream is so good," he replied with exaggerated innocence, licking his thumb.

I shook my head playfully. "Alright, strawberry boy. You're officially on dessert duty. Just don't eat all the profits."

As I turned back to the dough, my heart swelled. This - this sweet, messy, joyful chaos - wasn't just work. It was healing. It was home.

I was rolling out puff pastry when my phone buzzed on the nearby shelf. Unknown number.

I wiped my hands on my apron, glanced at the kids-now dipping cookies into bowls of sprinkles-and stepped toward the flour rack for a little quiet.

"Hello, this is Sandra, owner of Sweet Haven Bakery."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Sandra," came a deep, professional voice. "This is Jason from Dawson Industries. I'm calling on behalf of our executive coordinator. We're planning our annual company gala next month, and your bakery was highly recommended."

My eyebrows lifted. "Oh? That's... unexpected. And very flattering."

"We've heard great things about your pastries-especially your lemon tarts and red velvet cupcakes. We'd love Sweet Haven to handle desserts for the event. It's a corporate gathering of about a hundred guests. Nothing formal. Just something warm, heartfelt... like your brand."

I smiled, the flutter in my chest rising. "Well, you certainly know how to charm a baker. I'd be honored."

"We'll cover all costs. Our CEO specifically requested something local-crafted with love. No store-bought vibes."

I glanced at the kids, who were now licking icing from their fingers.

"Well, Mr. Jason, that's exactly what we do here. I'll send over a sample menu by tomorrow."

"Perfect. Expect an email shortly. We look forward to working with you."

When the call ended, I exhaled slowly, phone still in hand. My mind whirled with possibilities-fruit pies, chocolate-dipped shortbread, maybe even those pistachio macarons I hadn't made in months.

Dawson Industries.

It could be our biggest break yet.

I turned back toward the kitchen. "Guess what, guys?" I called out, grinning. "We've got a big order coming... and it's going to be the sweetest one yet!"

!xxxxxxxxxxxxx!

The house smelled of roasted peppers, garlic, and slow-cooked chicken-the kind of scent that felt like home. The long dining table buzzed with the clink of cutlery, bursts of laughter, and the soft scrape of chairs on tile.

I sat at the head of the table, still glowing from the bakery celebration.

"To unexpected doors opening," I said, raising my glass.

"Hear, hear!" my older sister, Sarah, chimed in with a grin.

"We're so proud of you, Sandra," my mother beamed. "Dawson Industries is no small name. I nearly screamed when you told me."

"I did scream," Sarah added with a laugh.

My father, silent until now, lowered his glass and looked at me. "Wait... did you say Dawson Industries?"

I nodded, still smiling. "Yes. They're hosting their company celebration and want our pastries for the event."

The room quieted-not awkward, just... still.

My father's gaze locked with mine. "Sandra... isn't that the name you once mentioned? Back when everything happened with Andre?"

My smile faded. I looked down at my plate. "Yes. Dawson is Andre's last name. But... that doesn't mean anything."

The plates had been cleared, the air now thick with full bellies and sleepy contentment.

I leaned back in my chair, absently watching Liam and Lily giggling at the end of the table, their cheeks stained with jollof and juice.

Then Lily looked up. "Grandpa?" she asked, voice soft and curious. "Who's Dawson?"

The room froze.

Even the fan overhead seemed to stall.

I sat up straighter, my fork slipping from my hand.

"What did you say?" My voice came out too sharp.

Liam blinked. "You said Dawson earlier. You and Grandpa. And... you cried once, when you thought we were sleeping," he added, his small hands fiddling with leftover plantain. "You said Dawson and something about a lie."

My heart thudded in my chest. I turned toward my father, whose expression had gone unreadable.

My mother chuckled, trying to lift the moment. "Ah, ah-why are little ears eavesdropping on big people's talk?"

"Yes, you shouldn't be doing that," Sarah added, half-laughing.

But the tension lingered.

I stared at my children, stunned. I hadn't known they remembered... or even heard. That night, I'd sat in the living room with my father, crying through stories I'd tried to forget. I thought they were asleep.

My father cleared his throat. "Dawson is just someone from the past," he said quietly. "A man who hurt your mother deeply."

"No," I said, cutting in, my voice firmer than I meant. "Don't tell them that."

Lily's brows furrowed. "Is he a bad man?"

I looked at their innocent, expectant faces-so full of trust. My throat tightened.

"No, he isn't," I whispered.

And it was the truth.

Because now that Dawson was back-not in memory, but in real time, on business calls and email threads-the past wasn't so far away.

The name Dawson didn't just ring a bell.

It opened a door I had locked, bolted, and tried to forget.