The house wasn’t the same shade of white anymore. Instead, it stood in a dark, unfamiliar gray, like a shadow of what it used to be. There were new toys scattered in the garden, bright plastic cars and a tiny swing set. Evidence of a different childhood unfolding here, one that had nothing to do with me.
This wasn’t my home. Not anymore.
A lump rose in my throat as I gripped the car door handle, staring at the life that had taken root where mine had been uprooted. A new family lived there now.
“Tate?” Griffin’s voice was soft, careful. His gray eyes tracked my every move, concern woven into his expression. “We can leave. We don’t have to go inside.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the door handle. For a split second, I wanted to say yes to let him turn the car around, to pretend this dinner never had to happen. But I wouldn’t be the reason it fell apart before it even began.
“I’m okay.” The words felt thin, but I forced them out anyway.
Pushing the door open, I stepped out, my black heels clicking sharply against the pristine concrete of the driveway. The sound echoed in the too-quiet air, each step reminding me that I didn’t belong here anymore. I sidestepped the carefullymanicured patches of turf laid out in a decorative design because, of course, even the grass had to beperfect.
It reeked of wealth. Of a life I had once known but hadn’t been part of for so long.
And now, I was walking straight back into it.
Griffin’s motherhad always been the image of perfection, and time had been kind to her. The only sign that the years had passed were the soft crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, appearing like delicate cracks in porcelain whenever she smiled.
“You look so beautiful,” she cooed the moment she opened the door, her voice dripping with warmth. Before I could respond, I was engulfed in a hug, her arms pulling me in tight. The scent of her perfume, floral and familiar, wrapped around me.
For a moment, I let myself sink into it. The warmth. The comfort.The feeling of a mother’s love.
I had missed this. More than I wanted to admit.
Griffin lingered behind me, watching us with a small, knowing smile. His mother finally pulled back, cupping my face gently before ushering us inside.
The dining room was just as I remembered, elegant but sterile, the kind of place meant for dinner parties, not messy family meals. The long mahogany table was set to perfection, every piece of silverware gleaming under the chandelier. A rich aroma filled the air, and I spotted the spread—roast chicken, creamy mashed potatoes, a medley of vegetables, and warm rolls, all arranged like something out of a magazine.
We took our seats, and Griffin’s mother, Evelyn, wasted notime filling our plates. “So, Tate…” She began, her voice light with curiosity. “How has life been treating you? Are you still in that same condominium after everything that happened?”
I swallowed a sip of water, my fingers tightening slightly around the glass. “Yeah. It’s, um…had some rough moments lately, and I’m actually going to be moving soon.”
Griffin gave me a brief, knowing look, but I didn’t want to elaborate, and he nodded.
Evelyn clucked her tongue sympathetically. “You know, you could always move in with Griffin. He would love to take care of you.”
Before I could think of how to respond, she shifted her attention to Griffin. “And you, sweetheart? I see you won the championship!”
Griffin nodded, swallowing a bite of chicken. “Yeah, it’s been crazy busy, but I love every second of it!”
Evelyn beamed. “That’s wonderful, darling. Your father will be so proud.”
At the mention of him, the air seemed to shift. Griffin’s jaw tensed slightly, and I felt my own stomach tighten.
As if summoned, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, followed by the sharp clack of dress shoes against the marble floor.
And then he appeared.
Griffin’s father, Charles Silver, was as imposing as ever. Tall, broad-shouldered, and meticulously put together, he carried himself like a man who was always in control. But his expression as he stepped into the dining room was anything but warm.
He barely glanced at me before turning to his son, his voice sharp as he said, “So are you going to tell me why I had to hear from the damn news that you’re engaged?”
The room fell silent.
Griffin let out a slow breath, setting his fork down with practiced patience. “Dad, it’s not?—”
“You’re too young to be getting married,” Charles cut him off, his gaze flicking to me. “And let’s be honest, son. She’s not right for you.”
