---- Chapter 17 Almeda Hughes POV: My life found a new rhythm, one dictated by the seasons of produce and the ebb and flow of a bustling restaurant, not by the cold whims of Hector Porter. The Gilded Lily thrived. It became my sanctuary and my empire, a place built not on a loveless contract, but on passion and resilience. True to my word, on the first Sunday of every month, Hector and Jacob would appear. Jacob, slowly shedding the trauma of his past, was becoming a bright, inquisitive boy. He would "help" in the kitchen, his small hands carefully washing vegetables, his face smeared with flour, his laughter echoing in a space that had only ever known my quiet determination. He was healing, and in a way, watching him healed a part of me too. 1 Hector was a different man. The arrogant CEO was gone, replaced by a quiet, watchful father. He never overstepped. He never spoke of the past or of his feelings for me, but they were there, in his eyes, every time he looked at me. It was a silent, unending penance. She became my daughter in every way that mattered. The first time Jacob met her, it was a clash of titans. "She's my mom," he declared, puffing out his chest when Lily called me "Mama." Lily put her hands on her hips, a perfect mirror of me. "No, she's my mama. You're just a visitor." Their bickering became the new soundtrack of my Sundays. They fought over my attention, over the last cookie, over who got to tell me about their day first. It was noisy and messy and utterly perfect. Hector watched it all with a bittersweet smile. | saw the longing in his eyes, the dream of a family that could have been. But he respected the boundaries | had drawn. He was allowed this small glimpse into our world, and he was grateful for it. One evening, after a particularly long Sunday service, Hector lingered after Jacob had fallen asleep in a booth. ---- "She's wonderful," he said, nodding towards Lily, who was meticulously organizing the salt and pepper shakers. "You're a good mother, Almeda." "| know," | said, a simple statement of fact. He took a deep breath. "| know our story... it didn't end the way it should have. But I'm glad to be here now. To see this." He looked around my restaurant, at my daughter, at me. "To see you happy." | looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time without the filter of past hurts. | saw a man who had made terrible mistakes, but who was trying, in his own quiet way, to atone for them. The burning anger | once felt had long since cooled into embers, and now, even those were fading. "I'm happy, Hector," | said. And | was. My family didn't look like the one in the shattered portrait. It was a mosaic, pieced together from broken parts, made stronger and more beautiful for it. | had found my worth not in a man's name or his wealth, but in the life | had built with my own two hands. | had faced the fire and walked out, not unscathed, but whole. And that was a better ending than any storybook could ever offer.