Golden Cage Mommy Mutiny (Elyse) novel Chapter 67

“Lillian, I-”

The rest of his words had blurred into the sound of the rain outside, and I’d realized I didn’t care to hear them.

I grabbed a tissue and wiped the tears off Stella’s face, telling her to pull herself together and help with the next round of customers.

But she wasn’t having it. Her brows furrowed the moment she glanced at Adrian, and she slammed the steamer shut with a loud clang.

“Not selling to him,” she declared. “I’d rather hand every pastry to the people on the street than sell one to this jerk.”

I sighed, washed my hands, and started kneading the dough again. “Suit yourself. Losing one customer isn’t the end of the world. But if you waste a batch, it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again. She glared at Adrian with the fiery defiance of someone half his age. “Fine! Dock my pay. Still not selling to him.”

A draft swept in from outside, clearing the haze of steam that lingered in the air.

Through it, Adrian’s face came into focus–calmer, older, more weathered, but still almost exactly

the same.

He took out a few bills from his wallet, set them neatly on the counter, and without a word opened the steamer himself. He picked up one of the fresh, piping–hot meat rolls and sat down.

Ignoring the heat, he ate in silence, taking large, hungry bites.

For a moment, he didn’t look like the world–renowned astrophysics professor–he looked like a lost boy trying to find his way home.

When he finished, he smiled faintly. “Still the same taste. You have no idea how long I’ve missed

this.”

I looked at the warmth flickering in his eyes and finally understood the sense of familiarity I’d felt

when he walked in.

When we were kids, Adrian used to help me and my father at the deli. Later, when Dad discovered his talent for mathematics, he treated Adrian like his own son, saving every penny to hire him

tutors.

Without my father, there would’ve been no Dr. Adrian Vale–the celebrated scholar, the media’s favorite genius.

Without Adrian’s success, there would’ve been no Nora Quinn, no affair.

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And without that betrayal, there would’ve been no broken marriage, no scars on my wrists.

My father carried that guilt until the end of his life. He used to say he’d built Adrian up with his own hands–and in doing so, destroyed his daughter’s happiness.

Last year, when Dad was dying, he could barely speak, but he kept muttering through shallow breaths, “It’s my fault. I never saw who he truly was I ruined your life, Lillian.”

“Don’t hate me, sweetheart. I didn’t have much to give you–just that old two–bedroom apartment

and this little deli.”

“You’re steady, patient. If you keep the shop running, you’ll never starve.”

He mourned the man I’d married and pitied the pair, I’d endured. He blamed Adrian, but mostly he

blamed himself.

And yet, even at the edge of death, he couldn’t bring himself to truly hate the boy he’d once saved.

When his mind began to fade, his final words were a whisper from years ago. “Lilly, Adrian should be home from school soon. Remember to save him one of the beef rolls–he’s always liked those.”

But the man he remembered no longer existed.

The Adrian standing before me was a world–famous physicist now, a husband to another woman, separated from us by class, power, and a debt that could never be repaid.

He would never come home again.

Or maybe he had–but not as the boy we once knew