Chapter 6 - Learning to be a Father
The first week at the Lake Forest estate was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life.
True to his word, Julian stayed in the guest cottage two hundred yards down the path through the woods, but he showed up at the main house every morning at 6:00 AM sharp.
He didn't wear suits anymore. He wore soft flannel shirts, worn jeans, and comfortable leather boots. The man who used to command board meetings of fifty executives spent his mornings learning how to sterilize baby bottles, blend organic vegetable purees, and master the art of swaddling a wriggling five-month-old.
It was hilarious and deeply moving all at once.
I sat at the kitchen island on Thursday morning, sipping my coffee, watching Julian attempt to feed Rose her first taste of mashed sweet potatoes.
Julian was sitting on a small wooden chair in front of Rose’s high chair, looking as focused as if he were negotiating a treaty between nations. He held a small plastic spoon filled with orange puree, making absurd airplane noises that sounded hilariously unnatural coming from a corporate mogul.
"Open wide, Rose," Julian coaxed, hovering the spoon. "Here comes the Boeing 747..."
Rose giggled, clapping her tiny hands, and promptly grabbed the spoon with her hand, splattering sweet potato puree directly across Julian’s face and down his clean flannel shirt.
Julian froze, sweet potato dripping from his nose.
I burst into a fit of genuine, loud laughter—a sound that hadn't echoed from my chest in over a year. I leaned against the counter, clutching my stomach as I laughed.
Julian looked over at me, wiping a dollop of sweet potato from his cheek with a napkin. Seeing me laugh, his grey eyes softened completely, breaking into a warm, gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face.
"I'm glad my public humiliation amuses you, Mrs. Hartwell," Julian said dryly, though his eyes were dancing with warmth.
"You look very distinguished, Mr. Hartwell," I teased, walking over with a wet towel. "Orange really is your color."
I stepped close to him, leaning down to gently wipe the puree from his cheek. As I did, our faces were suddenly only inches apart.
I froze. Julian’s breathing hitched. His hand came up, hovering just above my waist, not pressing, just offering a soft warmth. His grey eyes locked onto mine, deep, intense, and filled with a raw tenderness that made my heart race against my ribs.
"I miss your laugh, Clara," Julian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I missed it every single day you were gone."
I looked at his lips, then back into his eyes. The familiar, magnetic pull that had brought us together four years ago washed over me like a warm wave. For a second, I wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss him.
Rose let out a loud, sudden babble, slamming her plastic cup against the tray of her high chair, breaking the spell.
I stepped back quickly, clearing my throat, my cheeks burning red. "I... I should check on the laundry."
"Clara," Julian said softly, standing up.
He didn't chase me, but his voice carried a quiet confidence that filled the sunlit kitchen.
"I'm not going to rush you," he said gently. "I know I have to earn your heart back piece by piece. But I want you to know... I am never going to stop trying."
May you like
I looked back at him from the hallway entrance. He was standing there with sweet potato on his shirt, a baby wipe in his hand, and a look of absolute, unconditional devotion in his eyes.
As I walked upstairs to the laundry room, I placed my hand over my heart. The anger was fading, replaced by a quiet, terrifying truth: I was falling in love with my husband all over again.
