Bakery Owner’s Past Comes Knocking: A Shocking Reunion
I ordered my manager to throw her out… But when she lifted her head, I was staring into the eyes of a ghost from my past.
The bell on the door chimed softly as another customer entered The Gilded Crumb. Normally, this sound meant business as usual—cashmere coats, designer handbags, and hand-crafted cakes for pampered pets. But today, the air was different. Instead of the usual aroma of fresh pastries, the scent of rain and wet asphalt lingered.
I was in the back, going over quarterly margins for my bakeries in Seattle. The numbers were perfect—everything was perfect. My life was a series of clean lines and rising profits, and I liked it that way. Suddenly, Brad’s voice crackled through the intercom, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Ellie, you need to come out here,” he said, his voice teetering on panic.
With a sigh, I smoothed my blazer and checked my reflection in the monitor—hair tight, lipstick immaculate. I marched onto the shop floor, ready to handle whatever trivial issue Brad had blown out of proportion.
The shop was eerily silent. My regulars were huddled along the far wall, clutching their lattes like shields. And there, in front of the display case, stood the source of their discomfort—a girl in a soaked, oversized hoodie.
“Miss,” Brad said cautiously, keeping his distance as if she might bite. “I’ve asked you twice. You need to leave.”
The girl merely glanced at the cakes behind the glass, her hands buried deep in her pockets, creating a small puddle on my pristine floor. I felt my irritation spike. I had built my empire from nothing and didn’t allow messes—not of any kind.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice slicing through the tension. “This is a private establishment. Loitering isn’t allowed.”
“I’m not loitering,” she mumbled, her voice rough from disuse.
“Then buy something or leave,” I snapped, gesturing to the door. “There’s a shelter down on 4th. You can’t stay here.”
The girl remained motionless, eyes glued to the display case. My patience was wearing thin. “Brad, escort her out.”
Brad approached her cautiously, but as he reached for her arm, she flinched violently. “Don’t touch me!” she cried, knocking over a display of jams in her panic.
CRASH.
The sound of breaking glass filled the air as strawberry preserves splattered across the floor. That was it.
“Call the cops!” I ordered, my composure unraveling.
“I have money!” she yelled, slamming a crumpled five-dollar bill onto the counter. “I just wan
“It’s too late!” I hissed. “Look at this mess!”
“It’s… my birthday,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I don’t care,” I replied coldly.
“Look at me!” she suddenly screamed, pulling back her hood. Her eyes locked onto mine, and time seemed to freeze.
One eye was hazel, the other a piercing blue. My knees nearly buckled as I recognized the genetic anomaly I hadn’t seen in twenty years. I knew those eyes—they were mine.
“Sarah?” I whispered, unable to stop the name that slipped out.
The girl looked confused. “What?”
I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “Who are you?”
“Maya,” she replied, wiping her tears. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have,” I choked out. “I am.”
The room felt as if it had collapsed around us. My mind raced back to a cold hospital room, signing papers I had never wanted to sign. My daughter, adopted by a family in Ohio. Safe. Happy.
But now, here she was, standing before me, not as Sarah, but as Maya.
“Ellie?” Brad asked, his voice breaking through my haze. “Should I call the paramedics?”
“No, no,” I said, shaking myself back to reality. “Cancel the police.”
“But she—”
“I said cancel it!” I shouted, my focus returning to Maya. “Everyone out! The shop is closed.”
My customers murmured in protest, but they left quickly, leaving us alone. I turned back to Maya, who was shivering from the cold and wet.
“You gonna call the cops once I let my guard down?” she asked defiantly.
“No,” I said softly. “Let me help you. Please.”
I offered her a seat and fetched a cake from the display, placing it in front of her. She hesitated, then attacked it with her hands, eating as if it was the first real meal she’d had in ages.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, unable to contain my tears any longer. “I didn’t know.”
Maya stopped, her eyes softening for a moment before hardening once more. “Why do you care?”
“Because,” I said, my voice steadying, “you remind me of someone I lost.”
Her defenses faltered, but she still looked ready to bolt. I knew I had to tread carefully. “You can stay here,” I offered. “I have a room, food. You’re safe.”
“Why?” she asked again.
“Because you deserve better,” I replied.
Maya looked down at the empty plate, then back at me. “Maybe,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I watched as she left, the rain washing over her as she disappeared into the night. I knew I had to find her again, to make things right.
But when I reached home, my resolve was clear. I would burn the world down to find her, and I wouldn’t stop until the people who failed her paid for every tear she’d shed.
