Philip Winchester closed the file on his heavy oak desk, but the words on the page barely registered. Lately, he couldn't focus on anything. Something was missing.
No. Not something. Someone.
Leaning back in his leather chair, he shut his eyes, exhaling slowly. That boy—Jeffrey. His Jeffrey. He had loved him dearly, raised him as his own. And once, Jeffrey had stayed close, always within reach. Until Philip let his anger drive them apart.
For years, he had refused to check on him, waiting for the boy's stubborn pride to break first. But Jeffrey had vanished from his radar, slipping into the world beyond his reach. And now, Philip's heart ached with the weight of all the time lost.
A quiet beep from the intercom pulled him from his thoughts.
"Come in," he said, pressing the button.
Seconds later, Sebastian entered, his ever-loyal assistant of thirty years. Without a word, he held up his phone.
"Sir, you need to see this."
Philip took the device, frowning as a short video played. His heart clenched at the familiar sight—the farm, the animals, his favorite girl Poppet playfully chasing that belligerent horse. Then, his breath caught.
A figure in the background.
He stilled, fingers trembling as he paused the video. His gaze locked onto the blurred outline of a man, his back turned to the camera. The hair. The stance.
"Is that… Jeff?" Philip's voice came out hoarse.
"I thought so too, sir." Sebastian's tone was careful. "I've already instructed people to sift through other videos and investigate the area. Rockchapel, specifically."
Philip let out a slow breath, his eyes lingering on the screen. His finger brushed over the tiny figure on the display, tracing the blurred outline of the boy—no, the man—who had once been his whole world.
"He looks well…" he murmured.
Sebastian exhaled in quiet relief. "And happy, sir."
Philip nodded absentmindedly as the video continued. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips—until it faded just as quickly. His expression darkened, his gaze turning unreadable.
"Ah… what a cruel twist of fate this is," he muttered.
Sebastian frowned. "Sir?"
Philip didn't answer right away. Instead, he sat still, lost in thought. He had longed for this moment—for proof that Jeffrey was alive, thriving. He had prayed for fate to give them another chance.
And now that it had…
"If that's him, find a way to bring him back," Philip said at last, his finger still resting on the blurred figure.
Sebastian hesitated. "Sir…?"
"They can't be together, Sebastian. Bring him back."
There was a finality in his tone that left no room for argument.
Sebastian bowed his head in acknowledgment, though he didn't understand. He knew how much his boss had wanted this. How deeply he had longed to see Jeffrey and Joanne together. And now that fate had reunited them, why tear them apart?
"You haven't forgotten what happened the last time they were together, have you?" Philip's voice was quiet, but firm.
Sebastian stiffened. The weight of that unspoken history settled heavily between them.
Lowering his head, this time from his heart, Sebastian answered, "No, sir. I haven't. I'll bring him back."
And he knew, without needing to ask, that his boss could not afford another heartbreak. He loved the girl more than he thought he would.
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JD had barely stepped out of the office when he received the news—his promotion and raise had been finalized.
Apparently, Jo Smith had made sure the order went through today itself.
On his way home, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Why was she helping him so much? What did she see in him?
There had been moments—many, in fact—when he felt unworthy of working there. He wasn't anyone special. But people told him Jo had noticed his efforts, that this was her way of acknowledging them.
Honestly, he was awed by her.
Brian had scoffed, saying it wasn't JD's job to fix the logistics mess. But JD had grown up watching his grandfather, the "Emperor of Logistics," as people called him. JD had never paid much attention back then, but some things had stuck. He knew what his grandfather would have done in that situation. So, he did it.
And now, for the first time in his life, he felt a real sense of accomplishment.
As he drove back, he whistled along to the upbeat tune playing on the radio, the lightness in his chest unfamiliar yet exhilarating.
It was strange. He had never felt this before. Not in school, where he had coasted through classes without caring. Not in sports, where he played only for fun. He had never taken anything seriously before.
But now—this job, this work—it mattered.
And he was rewarded for it.
It felt incredible. Almost as incredible as seeing Jo's smile when she ate that cake—the one he had bought for her. That feeling of making her happy, of doing something that put light in her eyes… Phenomenal.
Had he ever done that for anyone else?
Only one person came to mind—his grandfather. When he was young, he would do anything to make the old man smile. And somewhere along the way, he had forgotten what that felt like.
But now, because of Jo, he remembered.
She was always like that. He had seen it firsthand. One night, a group of teenagers had shown up at her house with a deer they had hunted. Instead of sending them away, she had stood outside for hours, cooking for them. JD had wondered why she even bothered.
Then he had seen it.
That smile on her face as she watched them eat, the quiet joy in her eyes. They joy one gets by making others happy.
At thirty, JD found himself thinking about things he had never once given a second thought.
And it was all because of her.
When he stepped through the door, he wasn't the least bit surprised to find Joanne in the kitchen, moving effortlessly between the stove and the counter. The morning's ordeal with Brian Cooper had left her shaken, but she had rebounded with a quiet strength that left him in awe.
Honestly, she was spectacular.
"I promised Charlotte I'd send her dinner tonight," she said, her voice light with affection. "That girl is such a cutie… She tried to make me stay at her house to cook dinner for her and her dad."
She chuckled, but then her smile wavered, dimming at the edges.
"She thinks I'll be her mother if I marry her father," Joanne sighed.
JD felt something in his chest lurch—something sharp, something cold.
"M-marry him?" The words stumbled out, unsteady.
And just like that, every ounce of happiness he had carried throughout the day vanished.
It felt like someone had reached inside him and hollowed him out.