One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 61: Chapter 61

Arielle sat alone in the bakery’s office, the envelope trembling in her hands.
It had no return address.
Just her name. In handwriting she didn’t recognize but somehow felt like déjà vu—loopy, careful strokes, with the faint tilt of a left-handed writer.
The festival had ended hours ago, but the warmth lingered. Damien had offered to stay, but she’d sent him home with the kids. Whatever was in the letter—it was hers to face.
She opened it slowly.
> My dearest Arielle,
> If you are reading this, it means the man I trusted kept his promise. That after decades of silence and pain, my voice has finally found you.
> My name is Lena.
Her hands gripped the paper tighter. It was real.
> I am your mother.
Tears blurred her vision. Her heart beat like a war drum.
> They told me you were dead. After the fire. I was in a coma for weeks. When I woke, the hospital said there were no survivors. I mourned you. I buried an empty casket. And I stopped breathing somewhere inside.
Arielle closed her eyes.
> I searched. For years. But the records were sealed. Then falsified. It was only after I found a retired social worker who remembered your eyes that I dared hope again.
> I know I do not deserve forgiveness. But I am not asking for it yet. I am only asking to see you. To hear your voice. To touch your hand. Even once.
> I live in a small coastal town. I run a secondhand bookstore. My address is enclosed. Come if you wish. Or don’t. I will wait until I can’t.
> Love always,
> —Lena.
Arielle sat still for a long time.
No sobbing. No trembling.
Just silence.
The next morning, Damien found her on the front porch. Still holding the letter.
She looked up.
“She’s alive.”
He didn’t need to ask who. He sat beside her and took her hand.
“She thought I died,” she whispered. “All these years... she never left me. She mourned me.”
He nodded.
“What do I do?”
“Whatever your heart says. And I’ll follow.”
She read the letter again that night. Memorized the address. Googled the town. Saw the photo of a red-roofed bookstore facing the sea.
It looked like peace.
The next day, she packed a bag. Left the kids with Damien. Told them she needed a few days.
And then she drove.
Through winding roads. Rain turning to mist. The kind of silence that welcomed answers.
She arrived in the early evening.
The bookstore was just like the photo. Bell on the door. Paperbacks in the window. A faded sign: “Whispering Pages.”
Arielle stood outside for a long moment.
Then she walked in.
A woman stood behind the counter. Older. Greying hair in a messy bun. Reading glasses low on her nose.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
No words.
Just a slow rise of breath. A book falling from trembling fingers. And the sound of Arielle’s voice, soft and cracked.
“Mom?”
The woman stumbled forward. Covered her
mouth. Nodded.
Then they embraced.
Years collapsed into that moment.
Mother and daughter.
Finally.
Together.