**Chapter 7** Farrah I found myself standing outside my workplace, dread curling tightly in my stomach. I wasn’t prepared to face the day—especially not in this state. And as if the universe had conspired further against me, the phone in my pocket buzzed. The name on the screen made my heart race with a mix of anger and frustration. “What do you want, Caleb?” I snapped, my voice vibrating with pent-up irritation. I paced a few steps away from Cliff, who was doing an impressive job of ignoring the tempest brewing around him. “I’ve missed some calls from you,” my ex replied, his tone as nonchalant as ever. Bastard. I could feel the fire seeping into my veins. “Oh, cut the act! You know exactly what you did wrong. Levi had his first high school game, and he needed his father there.” “Did he even get off the bench?” he shot back, his indifference making my blood boil. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my heels striking the pavement angrily as I wrestled with my frustration. “That’s not the point! And you know it!” My mind was fraying, thoughts tumbling over one another as I tried to contain my rage. “Your son was counting on you! You couldn't even bother to drive three hours to support him on a Saturday afternoon.” “Funny how you’re the one who decided to uproot our kids and drag them away from Austin,” he retorted, utterly dismissive. “‘Uproot?’ I moved for a reason, Caleb! Just because I made that choice doesn’t give you the right to neglect your kids. Andrew told me he heard Levi crying himself to sleep after that game! Do you even care?” The knot in my stomach twisted painfully. “And what about all those ignored calls over the weekend? What if there was a real emergency?” “Maybe I didn't feel like dealing with my ex-wife grinding me down for old times’ sake,” he replied, the condescension in his voice grating on my nerves. “God, you're such a loser,” I muttered, slamming the phone down, bolstered by the small victory of breaking free from his manipulative grasp. The years of his infidelity had been the final tipping point, the last straw that had shattered our once-promising love. He hadn’t always been like this. I remembered our college days vividly; Caleb was romantic, surprising me with wildflowers—picked from the university’s garden, of course. There were the stolen kisses hidden away in the library’s abandoned corners during study breaks, the laughter that echoed through our shared dreams of the future. Even when Levi was born, he had embraced fatherhood, waking up for midnight feedings and pursuing a career to provide for us. But as time slipped away, layers of responsibility had settled like dust over our relationship. I stopped reaching for flirty lingerie, opting instead for comfy tees and shorts that became my uniform. He grew comfortable in his role, leaving the household chores and parenting largely to me. We became two strangers under the same roof, only adjacent, no longer intertwined. Despite everything, I had hoped my children wouldn’t have to navigate the messy split of weekends between their parents. I wasn’t unhappy enough to leave, not until— “Miss,” Cliff's voice broke through my thoughts. “Are you okay?” I glanced up, heat rushing to my face as embarrassment washed over me. I must have looked a fright; still, the concern etched in his brow softened the weight of the moment. “I’m okay,” I replied hastily. “I apologize for that call, by the way.” “Trust me, I’ve seen worse. This is nothing compared to some of the concerts I've worked.” He shuddered dramatically, yielding a small smile from me. “You’ll have to fill me in on that sometime. But for now, I should get inside. I wanted to beat Mr. Griffen for once.” Cliff held the door open, a subtle kindness that felt like a lifeblood. “Have a good day, Miss Farrah.” The sound of my first name resonated like a warm embrace, a slice of normalcy amidst everything else. “You too, Cliff.” Stepping into the building, I was grateful to find the conference room blissfully empty. My gaze drifted over the brightly colored beanbags in one corner and the easel displaying the vibrant painting done by Andrew and Cora under the guidance of Mr. Griffen. Their fingertips had created a picture-perfect winter forest, each dot an explosion of creativity. My heart swelled at the sight, particularly at the pink owl Cora had whimsically added in the corner. Gage had beamed with admiration over their work, his interest genuine, unlike the disinterest that had long settled in Caleb's heart toward his own children's achievements. “They really are talented,” came Gage’s voice from behind me, catching me off guard. My heart raced as I spun to face him. “Oh my gosh,” I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest to steady my racing heart. “I didn’t hear you come in.” For a moment, his expression shifted—shock giving way to a fierce, blazing anger that made my heart pound even faster. He crossed the room with purposeful strides, gently tilting my chin up to scrutinize the bruise blossoming against my right cheek. His touch ignited a wildfire of sensation against my skin. “Who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly as he assessed the colors of the bruise. “Was it your ex? Cliff mentioned an argument on the phone.” The tightness in his jaw suggested a fury barely contained. He released me, but the fire in his eyes remained. “If he laid a finger on you, I swear I’ll—” “Gage,” I interrupted, pressing my palm against his solid chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his suit. “I’m okay.” He was seething, breaths coming in hot waves, confusion mingling with his anger. “I got hit by a foul ball at my son's baseball game,” I explained, forcing a smile. “Like winning the lottery, but not the fun kind. The ER doctor said I avoided a concussion, so I’ll just be looking rough for a few weeks while it heals.” He seemed to soften slightly, his voice almost a whisper. “Ugly? You? Those words shouldn’t be in the same sentence.” A flutter of disbelief danced in my chest. Had he just suggested I wasn’t ugly? “Thank… you, Mr. Griffen,” I stammered, trying to catch up with my thoughts. He stepped away, the warmth of his hand leaving me cold in its absence. “My apologies, Farrah. I overstepped,” he said, shaking his head as though struggling to clear a fog. “I’m just relieved you’re okay.” Words rose in my throat, but I found myself at a loss, caught between the fire and ice of confusion stirred by our exchange. His attentive concern felt foreign and exhilarating. As he settled into his work at his computer, my legs moved toward my chair, a single thought spinning through my mind like a whirlwind: he had called me by my first name. In that moment, the world shifted ever so slightly, setting a dangerous spark in the air that set my heart racing.