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2025-06-23 23:59:14
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Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Feeling It
Viola McCoyI hear it before I see her.A soft knock. Three gentle taps. Then silence.I’m standing in my tiny kitchen, stirring honey into lukewarm tea, trying not to think about Logan or the fact that he’s now living right next door with the child that tore my heart in two. I’ve managed to avoid them for three whole days. Every time I hear little feet running on the gravel outside or a high-pitched giggle bouncing across the backyard fence, I shut my windows.But the knock returns. Lighter this time. Then a voice.“Pretty lady? Are you in there?”My breath catches in my throat.Missy.I close my eyes and steady my hands against the counter. Maybe if I’m quiet, she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll think I’m not home. But she knocks again—persistent, patient.“Pretty lady… I made you a picture.”My resolve crumbles.I open the door just a crack, and there she is.Big brown eyes. Curly hair tucked under a pink knitted hat. A paper clutched tightly in her tiny hands—creased and slightly smudged,
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Pretty Lady
Viola McCoyThe clinic is quiet, save for the scratch of my pen against the ledger and the occasional beep from the front desk monitor. It’s the first morning I’ve felt a little less hollow. Not whole—but not crumbling either.Until the bell rings.I glance up, expecting an elderly patient or one of the nurses returning from break. But instead, I see a small figure standing in the doorway.Big eyes. Light-up sneakers. Crayons tucked in the crook of one arm.And dimples.Missy.My heart lodges in my throat. My grip tightens on the pen until it creaks.She beams when she sees me. “It’s the pretty lady!”Pretty lady.The air whooshes out of me.She skips toward the counter and before I can react, she’s already walked around and into the employee area, wrapping her arms around my legs.“Pretty lady,” she says again, softer this time. “Where have you been?”I can’t breathe. I don’t even know what to say.Her voice is so sweet. So innocent.I finally croak, “How… how are you here?”She grin
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Winning
Logan Reynolds“I thought you said we’re going on vacation,” Missy says as she waddles toward her tiny suitcase, dragging it across the floor with dramatic effort.“We are,” I tell her, forcing a smile. “Just you and me.”She beams like it’s Christmas morning. “Can I bring my crayons?”“Of course.”She runs off to get them, singing that nonsense tune she always hums when she’s excited—half melody, half magic. I watch her carefully zip them into the side pocket like it’s treasure. Maybe to her, it is.I’ve been calling it a vacation for her sake. But that’s not what this is. Not for me.For me, it’s a last-ditch effort. A risk. A prayer.Because I found her.I found Viola.A little house in a town with more trees than streetlights. Amirah didn’t give me the address—I had to find it myself. And I still don’t know what I’ll say when I see her. I just know I can’t stay away anymore. Not when every night in that empty house with Missy feels like I’m drowning in everything I destroyed.So I
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine The Quiet
Viola McCoyThe quiet hits first.No horns. No sirens. No clacking heels on pavement or elevator dings. Just birdsong. The rustle of trees. The occasional car crunching down a gravel road.It’s unsettling at first but I settle into it slowly. Like slipping into a bath that’s too hot at first, but soon becomes exactly what you didn’t know you needed.The little house I’ve rented is old but sweet. Pale yellow with white trim. A tiny porch and chipped wooden steps. The kind of place that feels like it holds memories, even if they aren’t mine.I unpack the last box and place it in the corner like a ceremony. I haven’t put anything up on the walls. I don’t know if I want to. It still feels temporary, even though I keep telling myself I left for good.I grab a light jacket and walk.There’s a stretch of road lined with trees that leads into the town center—a small strip with a bakery, post office, diner, bookstore, and a modest little clinic tucked beside a flower shop.I don’t plan on goin
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Fight
Viola McCoy It’s been twenty-four days since everything fell apart. Twenty-four mornings where I wake up in Amirah’s guest room and remember I’m not whole anymore.I haven’t written a single word.Not a sentence.Not even a line of poetry on the back of a napkin. My notebooks sit untouched in a box by the closet. The cursor in my email drafts blinks like a pulse I no longer have the energy to follow.Adrian is in jail.And the worst part is—I still think about how brilliant his mind was. How his advice shaped the best parts of my book. How he saw me when I felt invisible. How he killed someone.I close my eyes and try not to drown in the contradiction.And then there’s Logan.He’s come by every single day. Same time. Same quiet knock. Same pleading voice just beyond the threshold, begging Amirah to convince me to come outside. He leaves flowers. Letters. Food I’m not hungry for.But I haven’t opened the door once.I can’t.I don’t want to look into those eyes and wonder how long he w
Capturing Viola: His Wife Is Mine Danger
Logan ReynoldsI step into the hallway, the weight of Viola’s words still blistering my chest like open flame.“But I do hate you right now.”“And I hate that I still love you enough for it to hurt this much.”It echoes in my head like a bell that won’t stop ringing.The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly as I move down the corridor, Missy’s tiny hand wrapped in mine. She’s quiet but I can’t blame her. She’s lost her mother. I’ve lost everything else.I should have told Viola. I should’ve ripped the Band-Aid off and let the pain bleed instead of festering underneath lies.But I didn’t.Because I’m a coward.We walk out into the early morning light. The sky is pale gray. The air carries the sting of yesterday’s rain and the bitter taste of failure. I lift Missy into the car seat the nurse helped me install earlier. She clutches a stuffed bear someone at the station gave her.“Where’s Mommy?” she whispers.I pause, my hands tightening around the belt buckle. I can’t answer. I phy
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