The CEO’s Masked Secret Wife novel Chapter 93

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93 A Father’s Advice and a Mother’s Broomstick

93 A Father’s Advice and a Mother’s Broomstick

The city faded into rolling countryside as Chloe’s silver SUV sped along the highway. Leo had fallen asleep in his car seat, his small head lolling to one side, mouth slightly

open.

“We’re about fifteen minutes away,” Chloe announced, glancing at the GPS. “Excited to

be home?”

I gazed out at the familiar landscape. “Yes and no. It’s complicated.”

“When is it not complicated with you?” Chloe laughed.

“Fair point.” I smiled, watching the fields of my childhood pass by the window.

As Chloe turned onto the long gravel driveway that led to my parents’ farmhouse, butterflies erupted in my stomach. The white two-story house with its wraparound porch came into view, and I spotted my mother’s flower garden bursting with color.

“Home sweet home,” Chloe said, pulling to a stop.

The front door swung open before I could even unfasten my seatbelt. My mother rushed out, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a loose bun, wearing her favorite floral apron.

“My babies are here!” she called out, hurrying down the porch steps.

Leo, now awake, pressed his face against the window. “Gamma!”

I helped him out of his car seat and set him down on the gravel. He took off running toward my mother, who scooped him up and spun him around.

“Look at you, getting so big!” She covered his face with kisses while he giggled.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, approaching with our bags.

She set Leo down and pulled me into a tight hug. “My girl. I’ve missed you so much.”

I breathed in her familiar scent of vanilla and lavender, feeling sixteen again.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked, looking around.

“In the barn. Arthur!” she called out. “They’re here!”

My father emerged from the red barn, wiping his hands on a rag. His weathered face broke into a wide smile beneath his gray mustache.

“There’s my Hazel-nut!” He strode over and wrapped me in a bear hug, lifting me slightly off the ground.

“Dad, put me down!” I laughed, feeling like a child again.

“And where’s my little man?” he asked, kneeling down.

“Gampa!” Leo ran into his arms.

“I swear he’s grown a foot since Christmas,” Dad said, hoisting Leo onto his shoulders.

After saying goodbye to Chloe, who was continuing to her parents’ house in the next town over, we headed inside. The farmhouse smelled like freshly baked bread and

cinnamon.

“I made your favorite apple pie,” Mom said, ushering us toward the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“Nonsense. It’s not every day my daughter and grandson visit.”

The kitchen looked exactly as I remembered-yellow curtains fluttering by the open window, copper pots hanging above the island, the ancient wooden table where we’d shared thousands of meals.

“Pie!” Leo pointed eagerly.

“After dinner, little man,” Dad said, setting him down on a chair piled with cushions.

Mom dished up a hearty beef stew while Dad poured drinks. The conversation flowed easily, centered mostly on Leo’s latest adventures. My heart swelled watching my son interact with his grandparents, showing off new words and gesturing wildly as he told incomprehensible stories.

After dinner and pie, Dad took Leo outside to see the chickens while Mom and I cleared the table.

“You seem happy,” she remarked, handing me a wet plate to dry.

“I am,” I admitted. “Work is good. Leo is thriving”

“And you? Are you thriving too?”

I considered the question. “I think I am. The city feels right for us.”

“Less judgment?” she asked knowingly.

I nodded. “No one bats an eye at a single mom there. Here, it always felt like everyone was waiting for me to fail.”

Mom sighed. “I wish it hadn’t been that way for you.”

“It’s not your fault. Small towns have long memories.”

“And narrow minds,” she added. “Your father and I are so proud of you, Hazel. Taking on motherhood alone, building a new life-you’re stronger than I ever was.”

I nudged her shoulder with mine. “I got it from you.”

We finished the dishes in comfortable silence before joining Dad and Leo on the porch. The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. Leo had fallen asleep on Dad’s lap, thumb tucked securely in his mouth.

“Out like a light,” Dad whispered. “Too much excitement.”

I gently took Leo and carried him upstairs to my old bedroom, now outfitted with a crib for his visits. After tucking him in, I returned to find my parents on the porch swing, a glass of wine waiting for me.

“Just like old times,” Dad said, patting the spot beside them.

I settled in, accepting the glass. “Except you never let me have wine back then.”

“That we know of,” Mom winked.

The evening air was cool and fragrant with the scent of honeysuckle. Crickets chirped in the tall grass, and fireflies began to blink in the gathering darkness.

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