I thought opening my dream bakery would be the happiest moment of my life — until my husband’s family started treating it like their free buffet. Day after day, they took without paying… and my husband just stood by. I stayed quiet — until the morning I found the door already unlocked…
The fog hung in the street like a gray blanket as I approached my bakery, and I had to squint to see the name painted on the glass: Sweet Haven.
God, I’d stared at those words a thousand times, but they still didn’t feel real.
I slid my key into the lock. I pushed the door open, and I flipped on the lights with that same flutter of pride I’d felt every morning for the past three weeks.
Then I glanced at the display case and my stomach dropped. The display case was half-empty.
There weren’t any receipts sitting by the register, or crumpled bills left behind.
Just empty shelves where my lemon bars and chocolate croissants should have been. “Not again,” I whispered, and the words came out shakier than I’d intended. You have to understand — this wasn’t just about missing pastries.
This was about everything I’d sacrificed to get here.
I didn’t grow up with much. In my family, dreams were like designer handbags; pretty to look at, but way too expensive to own.
Most people in my neighborhood worked two jobs just to keep the lights on. Chasing dreams was a luxury we couldn’t afford.
But my grandma was different.
Even when our cupboards were practically bare, she could work magic with a handful of flour and whatever sugar we had left. I’d watch her hands move like a dancer’s, kneading dough until it was perfect. “Love and patience,” she’d say, flour dusting her dark hands.
“That’s what makes dough rise.”
Grandma taught me how to bake, and eventually, I learned the magic of turning the last cup of flour into a filling meal, and how to transform the ugly fruits from the neighbor’s wizened apple tree into a tasty pie.
Somewhere along the way, I started dreaming of owning my own bakery. Grandma always encouraged me, so when she died, I started to chase my dream in earnest.
It was my way of honoring her, and everything she taught me. I walked to my job as a supermarket cashier, skipped out on coffee dates and movies with friends, and didn’t even think about vacations.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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