Perfect — here's Chapter 7 of His Wife, His Mistake, titled "The Day He Saw Them". This chapter is told from Damon's point of view and covers exactly 1000 words, as requested. It describes the moment he unexpectedly finds Arya and their son, including what brought him to that exact place and time, and his shocked emotional reaction.
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His Wife, His Mistake
Chapter Seven: The Day He Saw Them
POV: Damon
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I wasn't supposed to be in Westbrook.
A tiny town barely marked on the map, tucked between cliffs and coastlines. The kind of place billionaires like me didn't belong in — too quiet, too ordinary, too far from anything the world would consider "important."
But I needed a break.
My assistant had suggested a retreat. Somewhere without cameras, without contracts, without fake smiles and empty conversations.
Westbrook came up as a weekend stop on my way to a conference in Monterey. Just a night or two, she said. "They have a coastal art fair — peaceful, relaxing."
Peaceful.
That's what I thought I wanted.
Until I saw her.
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I remember the exact moment it happened.
I was stepping out of a coffee shop, dressed like I always am — sharp jacket, sunglasses, clean shoes on clean pavement.
The fair had already started. Laughter echoed through the streets. Children ran with balloon animals. Paintings hung from wooden booths. It felt like a different world. One untouched by boardrooms and betrayals.
And then… I saw her.
Arya.
My wife.
The woman I hadn't seen in four years. The woman I searched for — not loudly, not legally — but quietly, like a man too ashamed to admit what he lost.
She was walking between two booths, holding a little boy's hand.
My world stopped.
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I didn't recognize the boy right away.
Not fully.
But there was something about the way he walked beside her — confidently, clinging to her hand like it was the only thing that mattered.
I stood there, frozen, as if someone had punched the air from my lungs.
Arya hadn't changed much.
Her hair was longer. Pulled back in a soft bun. She wore no makeup, no designer brands. Just a simple dress, sandals, and the kind of natural glow I'd forgotten a woman could carry without effort.
She looked peaceful.
But not the kind of peace I gave her.
The kind she had to fight for after I failed her.
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I started walking toward them. I didn't plan to. My feet moved on their own.
I was halfway across the fairground when the little boy turned and looked at me.
And that's when it hit me.
He had my eyes.
Wide, observant, deep-set — the same stormy gray that stared back at me in the mirror every morning.
The breath caught in my throat.
Arya turned just then, following the boy's gaze — and her entire body tensed when she saw me.
Our eyes locked.
She didn't smile. Didn't wave. Didn't flinch.
She simply picked him up, whispered something in his ear, and turned the other way.
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I didn't follow immediately.
I stood there, heart racing like I was the one being hunted.
People passed me on both sides — a laughing couple, a father with his daughter, a group of teenage boys tossing popcorn at each other — but I was rooted to the spot.
My son.
I had a son.
And I hadn't even known he existed.
I clenched my fists at my sides. Not out of anger at her — but at myself.
Because deep down, I knew.
I knew the moment I saw them.
Arya hadn't run out of spite.
She'd left out of survival.
And I'd made it easy.
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I finally moved. Pushed through the fair, searching every booth, every crowd. But she was gone.
I returned to my hotel that night and didn't sleep.
I sat by the window until sunrise, replaying that moment over and over.
Her eyes.
His face.
The truth I'd missed for four long years.
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The next morning, I went back.
The art fair was still open — and this time, I wasn't just browsing.
I was looking.
Asking quiet questions at every booth.
It wasn't hard. Small towns talk.
"Pretty woman with a little boy? Oh, that's Arya. She teaches art. Has a studio near the bakery."
Arya.
She hadn't even changed her name.
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I found the studio easily. Tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore, with a soft painted sign that read: "Color Haven: Art for All Ages."
I stood outside for a long time, afraid to go in.
Afraid she'd slam the door in my face.
Afraid she wouldn't.
But I had to try.
Because the moment I saw Liam — and yes, I'd learned his name from a friendly shopkeeper — everything inside me shifted.
Money, power, control — none of it mattered now.
I had a son.
And I had lost the woman who should've never had to raise him alone.
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I opened the door, and the little bell above it chimed softly.
Paintings lined the walls — bright, whimsical, messy. Children's artwork and grown-up masterpieces alike.
And there she was.
Behind the counter. Paint on her fingers. A quiet strength in her posture. The same woman I married… but entirely different.
Stronger. Wiser. Unforgiving.
Her eyes met mine, and I saw the storm inside her. The walls she'd built. The pain I'd caused.
She didn't speak at first.
Neither did I.
Finally, I stepped forward and said, voice rough and unsteady:
"I saw you yesterday."
She nodded slowly.
"I know."
My gaze dropped for a moment.
"He's mine," I whispered.
She didn't answer. Didn't need to.
I looked around, at the artwork, the warmth, the life she'd built without me.
And then back at her.
"I didn't know."
Her jaw tightened. "You didn't want to know."
That hurt. Because it was true.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Can I… see him?"
She studied me for a long, breathless moment.
Then said quietly:
"You don't get to walk back in like nothing happened."
And I nodded.
Because she was right.
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