Chapter 23 - THE QUIET SUNDAY MORNING
Sunday mornings in the penthouse belonged to Nora.
At four years old, she had graduated from a high chair to a booster seat at the kitchen island, and her vocabulary now included complex demands such as "blueberry pancakes with extra syrup" and "why does Daddy have so many suits that look exactly the same?"
Rafe, dressed in a soft gray cashmere sweater and slacks, was currently attempting to flip a pancake while simultaneously answering a detailed line of questioning from his daughter regarding the aerodynamics of maple syrup.
Tessa stood by the counter with a steaming mug of tea, watching the two of them with a quiet, abiding sense of peace that still occasionally felt like a miracle she hadn't quite earned yet.
The phone on the counter buzzed softly. It wasn't an emergency line; it was simply the intercom from the building lobby announcing the Sunday morning delivery of fresh pastries from Mrs. Gable’s bakery downstairs.
"I'll get it," Tessa said, pressing the button to unlock the lobby doors.
She turned back to watch Rafe successfully land a pancake on a plate, earning an enthusiastic cheer from Nora, who immediately clapped her hands together with uncontainable joy.
The elevator doors chimed a minute later, and Mrs. Gable stepped into the penthouse holding a large white bakery box tied with pink twine, her face beaming with warmth.
"Morning, family!" Mrs. Gable announced, walking straight toward the kitchen island and setting the box down between the fruit bowls. "Fresh cinnamon rolls, still warm from the oven. If you don't eat them all in five minutes, I'm taking them back down to the lobby."
"Not a chance," Rafe declared instantly, abandoning the skillet to open the box before Mrs. Gable even had time to untie the string.
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Tessa laughed, watching the man who controlled half the commercial real estate in New York eagerly inspect a cinnamon roll like a child on Christmas morning.
How strange life was, she thought. You spend years running from shadows, believing that survival means locking your heart in a box and keeping your head down. And then, one day, you walk through a door you were never supposed to touch—and you find out that the dark was just a hallway leading to the rest of your life.
