I packed only what we needed: some clothes, Liam’s laptop, and my old guitar, the one my mother had given me when I was 15.
It had been gathering dust for years, but something about taking it felt right.
Before we left town, we stopped at Grandpa’s care facility. He sat in his chair by the window, staring outside, a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders.
“Grandpa, we’re moving for work,” I said softly, kneeling in front of him. “But we’ll visit. I promise.”
He blinked slowly, eyes focusing on me for just a moment.
“Sasha and little Jenna,” he murmured, confusing me with someone else like he often did.
My throat tightened.
“It’s Megan, Grandpa. And this is Liam.”
He smiled faintly, reaching out to squeeze my hand.
“Be happy, sweetheart.”
We boarded the train.
And as it pulled away, Liam squeezed my shoulder.
“Mom, this is going to be good. I can feel it.”
I tried to smile. I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
The estate rose out of the trees like something out of a magazine. Sleek, modern lines blended with the charm of an old converted barn.
The place had once been a farm, Marilyn told us on the ride from the train station, but it had been renovated into a creative retreat for its owner.
The owner, she said, was Daniel Hayes, a director famous for high-end music videos and commercials.
I’d heard the name before, but never paid attention to celebrity news.
Marilyn showed us to our quarters, a modest but comfortable two-room suite, tucked into one wing of the estate.
Liam bounced onto the bed like a kid on vacation, his eyes wide.
“Mom, this place is insane. Look at the view.”
Through the window, Lake Michigan shimmered under a pale blue sky.
For a moment, I thought, maybe this won’t be so bad.
Then Marilyn lowered her voice.
“One thing you should know: Daniel can be intense. He’s creative, brilliant, but moody. Don’t take it personally.”
I nodded, unsure what that meant until I met him that evening.
I had just finished dusting the main living area, a space twice the size of our old apartment, when I heard a voice behind me.
“You know that’s an original piece, right? Not something from a discount store.”
I turned quickly, almost dropping a rag.
A tall man with sharp blue eyes and perfectly styled dark hair stood there, leaning against the doorframe. He looked younger than I expected, late 30s maybe, but carried himself like someone used to being obeyed.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was just being careful.”
He smirked.
“Careful is good. Criticism, however, is optional.”
It took me a second to realize what he meant until I saw the TV behind him playing one of his music videos. A brightly colored, over-the-top dance piece I’d accidentally muttered about earlier, something like, “Who even watches this stuff anymore?” thinking I was alone.
“I, uh…”
“Relax,” he said, folding his arms. “I’ve got professional critics for that. But I have to admit, it’s refreshing when the help weighs in.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hayes.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Daniel’s fine. And for the record, you clean well. Keep that up, and we’ll get along.”
He walked out without another word, leaving me standing there embarrassed and irritated all at once.
That evening, Liam returned from exploring the property, his cheeks flushed from excitement.
“Mom, guess who I met?”
“Daniel?”
“He’s actually cool. He asked me what music I liked and said he might show me his studio.”
I blinked.
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