Madison
The weekend arrived with unexpected sunshine and a sense of anticipation. Mom and I packed overnight bags and set off for Connecticut in a rental car.
“It feels like an adventure,” Mom said as we drove out of the city. “I haven’t been on a road trip in years.”
I smiled, feeling the tension of the past weeks begin to fade. “Me neither.”
The drive was pleasant, the countryside gradually replacing the urban landscape. We listened to oldies radio, singing along to songs we both knew by heart.
Our first stop was a small colonial–style house in a quiet neighborhood.
“It’s charming,” Mom said as we pulled up.
The realtor, a cheerful woman named Linda, showed us around the property. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious kitchen, and a backyard that made Mom’s eyes light up.
“I could plant a garden here,” she said, looking out at the empty space.
“It’s a great starter home,” Linda assured us.
We visited three more properties that day, each with its own charm. By the end, we were leaning heavily toward
the colonial.
“It just feels right,” I told Mom over dinner at a local restaurant. “Like it could be home.”
“I think so too.” She took a sip of her water. “And did you see that main street? So cute. Perfect place for a café if that’s what you decide.”
I nodded, picturing it: a small, cozy café with homemade pastries and good coffee, a place where locals could gather, where I could build something meaningful.
“Madison Harper, small business owner,” I said, testing the title. “I like the sound of that.”
Mom reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “You’re going to be amazing. At whatever you choose.”
We stayed overnight at a bed and breakfast, making plans and dreaming of our new life. I felt hopeful and excited for the first time since seeing those two pink lines on the pregnancy test.
The next morning, we met with Linda to review the lease for the colonial house.
We drove back to New York with a sense of purpose and discussed furniture arrangements.
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” I said as we neared the city. “It feels so sudden.”
“Sometimes the best decisions are the ones we make quickly,” Mom replied. “When it feels right, you know.”
Back at our apartment, I checked my phone out of habit. Still nothing from Alexander. It had been nearly a week since I’d texted him about the pregnancy.
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“His loss,” I murmured, echoing Hazel’s words.
The next few days passed in a blur of packing and planning. Linda called to confirm everything was approved, and we scheduled the move–in date for the beginning of next month.
The following week disappeared into a whirlwind of sorting, packing, and donating. Years of accumulated possessions had to be evaluated with brutal efficiency: keep, donate, trash. The apartment that had once seemed spacious now felt overwhelmed by cardboard boxes.
Moving day arrived with unexpected sunshine after a week of rain. The movers Mom had hired arrived promptly at eight, transforming our apartment into an efficient assembly line of boxes and furniture.
By noon, our apartment had been reduced to a collection of boxes and suitcases loaded into a moving truck. Mom and I stood in the empty living room, our footsteps echoing on the bare floors.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Mom said quietly. “Like the end of a chapter.”
I nodded, suddenly overcome with emotion. This apartment had seen so much: my first real job, Mom’s illness, her recovery, my promotion… and Alexander. For a moment, his face flashed in my mind, but I pushed the thought away.
The drive to Connecticut took longer than expected due to traffic, but by late afternoon, we were pulling up to our new home. The colonial house looked even more charming than I remembered, its white clapboard exterior gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Linda met us at the door, keys in hand. “Welcome home!” she beamed, handing them over with a flourish.
The movers arrived shortly after, unloading our belongings with practiced efficiency. By nightfall, we had assembled our beds and unpacked enough essentials to make the place livable.
The first week in Connecticut passed in a haze of unpacking, assembling furniture, and exploring our new town. Our neighbors brought welcome baskets and casseroles, each one accompanied by curious glances and friendly interrogations.
“So what brings you to our little town?” asked Mrs. Daniels from across the street, delivering a homemade apple pie.
“A change of pace,” I replied smoothly. “New York was getting a bit too hectic.”
“She means expensive,” Mom interjected with a laugh. “My daughter here was supporting us both on a single income in Manhattan. Can you imagine?”
Mrs. Daniels looked suitably impressed. “What kind of work did you do, dear?”
“I was a project manager for a development company,” I said, deliberately vague. The less said about Knight Industries, the better.
“And what will you be doing here?”
Mom jumped in before I could answer. “Madison’s thinking of opening a café in town! Isn’t that exciting?”
Mrs. Daniels’s face lit up. “Oh, how wonderful! We haven’t had a proper café since Mildred’s closed two years
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ago. You must talk to my husband; he’s on the town council.”
By the time she left, I had the phone numbers of not only her husband but also the local bank manager, a commercial real estate agent, and the head of the small business association.
“Mom,” I said once Mrs. Daniels was safely out of earshot. “The café is just an idea. I haven’t decided anything yet.”
“It’s never too early to make connections. Besides, I saw the way your eyes lit up when we passed that empty storefront on Main Street.”
I couldn’t deny it. The charming brick building with large windows and a faded “For Lease” sign had caught my attention immediately. I’d even gone so far as to peek through the windows, imagining tables and a counter, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries.
“Maybe,” I conceded. “But first, I need a job. Something stable while I figure things out.”
Mom nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Of course. One step at a time.”
The job search proved easier than expected. My experience at Knight Industries opened doors, and within two weeks, I had multiple offers. I settled on a position with a small development firm in Hartford, similar work to what I’d done before but on a more manageable scale.
“Congratulations on the new job,” my new boss, Ellen Richards, said as she showed me around the office on my first day. “We’re thrilled to have someone with your experience join our team.”
The office was nothing like Knight Industries, with no gleaming skyscraper, no designer furniture, and no Alexander. It was just a modest suite in a converted warehouse, filled with hardworking professionals who actually left at 5 PM.
Chapter
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
