Running Into My Ex While Black Friday Shopping

The mall was a riot of noise and color that Friday afternoon, the kind of chaos that usually made me smile.

Black Friday.

The corridors overflowed with families clutching shopping bags, children squealing over toy displays, and speakers blaring cheerful holiday music that bounced off the high ceilings. John tugged at my hand, his small fingers sticky from the candy cane he'd convinced me to buy at the entrance.

"Mommy, can we get Daddy that watch?" He pointed at a store window as we passed, his eyes wide with the kind of innocent excitement only a child could muster. "The one with the silver band. He'd like it, right?"

I crouched down to his level, pushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "That's very thoughtful of you, sweetheart. But maybe we should look for something else. That one's a bit expensive."

"But Daddy works so hard," John insisted, his bottom lip jutting out in that way that always made my heart melt. "He deserves something nice."

I kissed his forehead, warmth flooding through me despite the press of strangers around us. This was my life now. Simple moments. Safe moments. Edmund and John. Our little family. "Okay, we'll think about it. Come on, let's check the next store."

I straightened and pushed our shopping trolley forward, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. The weight of our purchases—a new winter coat for John, some kitchen supplies, a few Christmas decorations—made the cart slightly unwieldy, but I didn't mind. There was something comforting about the mundane task of holiday shopping, about being just another mother in a sea of families preparing for Christmas.

Then I turned the corner.

The trolley's wheel caught on something, jerking to a sudden stop. I looked up, an apology already forming on my lips.

The words died in my throat.

Benedict Flood stood three feet away, surrounded by a group of men I vaguely recognized as his friends.

Time seemed to slow, the noise of the mall fading to a distant hum as my brain struggled to process what I was seeing.

Six years.

Six years since I'd last seen that face—those sharp cheekbones, that confident smirk, those eyes that once made me feel like I was drowning.

His expression shifted from mild annoyance at the collision to something else. Recognition. Then something darker. Triumph.

"Fiona." My name came out like a possession claim, not a greeting.

I couldn't move. My hands gripped the trolley handle so tightly my knuckles went white. The fluorescent lights overhead suddenly felt too bright, the air too thin. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice screamed at me to run, to grab John and disappear into the crowd, but my legs wouldn't obey.

"Where have you been?" Benedict's voice rose, cutting through the ambient noise. Shoppers near us began to slow, their curiosity piqued by his aggressive tone.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. The word 'Flood' echoed in my skull like a death knell. My vision started to narrow at the edges.

"You think you can just disappear?" Benedict stepped closer, his friends fanning out behind him like sentries. "After everything? After six years of—"

"Benedict, please," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not here."

But he was already in full performance mode, his voice carrying across the corridor. "Everyone, you want to hear something interesting? This woman—" he gestured at me dramatically, "—she chased me for six years. Six. Years. Couldn't take no for an answer. Called me constantly, showed up at my office, at my home. Obsessed doesn't even begin to cover it."

A small crowd was forming now. I could see phones being raised, cameras pointing in our direction. My stomach twisted with nausea. This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not in front of John.

"And now," Benedict continued, his smile widening as he fed off the attention, "now she's playing hard to get. Pretending she doesn't care. But I know the truth. I know she's still in love with me. That she still thinks about me every day. Don't you, Fiona?"

The world tilted slightly. I felt John's small hand clutch at my leg, and that simple touch cut through the fog of panic threatening to consume me.

"Mommy?" His voice was small, frightened. "Mommy, who is that man?"

Benedict's gaze dropped to John for the first time, and something flickered across his face—surprise, calculation, something else I couldn't name.

"Stop this childish game," Benedict said, his tone shifting to something almost cajoling, as if we were having an intimate conversation rather than standing in a crowded mall surrounded by strangers. "Come back where you belong. You know you want to."

John started to cry.

That sound—my baby's frightened whimper—shattered whatever paralysis had held me frozen. The maternal instinct that had kept me alive through worse nightmares than this surged forward, burning away the fear. I stepped in front of John, positioning my body between him and Benedict.

"Alpha Dean," I said, my voice shaking but clear, borrowing the formal address from somewhere deep in my past just to create distance. "What's wrong with you? Your behavior is completely inappropriate. You need to leave us alone. Now."

Benedict's face darkened. The crowd around us seemed to hold its breath.

"Inappropriate?" he repeated, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "I'm inappropriate? You're the one who—"

"I said leave us alone." My hands were trembling, but I held my ground, one hand reaching back to rest on John's head, anchoring myself to what mattered. Not the past. Not Benedict. My son. My family. "Whatever you think happened between us, whatever story you've told yourself—it's over. It's been over. Don't make this worse than it already is."

For a moment, Benedict just stared at me, his expression unreadable. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face, making him look almost skeletal. Behind him, his friends shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure whether to intervene.

John's crying intensified, his small body pressed against my legs, and I realized with dawning horror that I had no idea what Benedict would do next.