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ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY SEVEN

Author: Hummingbird
last update Last Updated: 2025-12-22 23:43:12

Mikhail waits for Diana to return and when she's a few minutes late, he goes to the cottage first.

He does not panic yet. Panic is something that comes after certainty, and he is not certain of anything except that Diana should be here. He pushes the door of her bedroom open, scans the room, the queen sized bed, the chair, the window where light spills in thin and useless. The air smells wrong. Everything feels silent and empty.

His chest tightens then.

He steps back outside and forces himself to breathe. He tells himself she went to look for Audrey. He tells himself she said she was fine. He tells himself he trusted her because he promised to.

The ground betrays the truth before his mind is ready.

He sees her footprints first. Light. Careful. The way she walks when she is trying not to draw attention. One shoe, then the other. No rush. No drag. She walked away calmly.

Alone.

He follows them without thinking. His body knows how to do this. His eyes lower, his senses sharpen, everythin
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  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    210- TO ATLAS

    TWO YEARS LATER Two years old feels heavier than it sounds.Diana knows this as she stands by the window, watching the backyard slowly fill with people she once thought would never live long enough to argue about tablecloths and cake flavors. Two years is not just candles and balloons. It is survival stacked on top of survival until it starts to look like a life.Atlas turns two today.Outside, Oliver is setting up the long wooden table. He has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his movements careful but steady, like his body remembers pain but no longer obeys it. He keeps stopping to straighten the plates, to realign the cups, to check the cutlery like precision might ward off bad luck. Diana smiles at the sight of him.“You’re going to wear a hole into that table,” she calls through the open door.Oliver looks up, grinning. “Someone has to take this seriously.”That makes her laugh. A soft sound. Real.Dorothy arrives next, loud before she is even visible. She comes through the ga

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    TWO HUNDRED AND NINE

    Mikhail groans softly as the phone vibrates against the bedside table. He opens his eyes and he groans again when he realises that someone is calling him at night. It is still dark enough that the room feels suspended between night and morning, the kind of hour where reality has not fully decided to return. Diana is curled toward him, the blanket twisted around her naked body, her breathing slow and even. One arm is flung across his chest like an anchor, possessive even in sleep.He gently kisses her hand and rolls away from her. He reaches for the phone carefully, silencing it before it can ring again.“Hello,” he says quietly, already sitting up.He slips out of bed, tugging his boxer briefs on as he moves. The air feels colder without her warmth. He glances back once, just to make sure she has not stirred. She has not. Her hair is a mess on the pillow, lips parted slightly, peaceful.He closes the bedroom door behind him.“Hello,” the voice on the other end says.Mikhail freezes.

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHT

    The house sits in the quiet part of the city where sound feels polite.Where neighbors nod instead of stare. Where the air smells like cut grass and warm wood. Where danger feels like a rumor instead of a certainty.Storm knows better than to believe that.She has never once mistaken peace for immunity. She just refuses to let fear dictate how she lives.She's noticed that life is much more sweeter when you're not running and looking behind your shoulder. It's more sweeter when you're not planning on how to take someone's life in exchange for money. She moves through the house barefoot, sunlight spilling across the floor, hair loose, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder. There is a softness to her mornings now. A slowness she earned with blood and survival and too many nights spent waiting for the other shoe to drop.Her past might always haunt her.She will greet it when it comes.But for now, she is happy.“Dorothy!”Ark’s voice cuts through the quiet from outside.Storm groan

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    TWO HUNDRED AND SEVEN

    THREE MONTHS LATERThe stadium is loud in the way that feels alive.Not violent. Not dangerous. Just loud with joy, with strangers shouting together for the same reason, with hands thrown up and voices cracking from singing and yelling and believing in something simple.Diana sits beside Mikhail with her jacket open, one hand resting low on her belly. The bump is unmistakable now. Not something she has to search for in the mirror. It exists. It announces itself.Mikhail has learned the rules of football slowly, painfully, asking questions at the worst possible moments, shouting at the wrong plays, cheering a second too late. Diana loves it. Loves the way he leans forward like the outcome personally offends him. Loves the way he looks at her afterward to check if his reaction was correct.When their team wins, the stadium explodes.Mikhail stands without realizing it, fist in the air, shouting something that makes absolutely no sense. Diana laughs so hard her eyes water.“You’re one of

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    TWO HUNDRED AND SIX

    The days drag.Not loudly. Not dramatically. They drag in the quiet ways that make worry worse.Mikhail does not let Diana skip meals. He watches her plate like it is a mission, slides food closer when she forgets to eat, presses a glass of water into her hand without saying a word. He never frames it as concern. He frames it as normal. As if feeding her is simply part of loving her.She lets him.At night, he holds her tighter than usual. Not possessive. Protective. Like if he loosens his grip even a little, the world might take something else from him.When the phone finally rings, Diana jumps.Mikhail answers it before she can. His expression barely changes, but his shoulders stiffen.“Thank you,” he says. “We’re on our way.”“The results?” Diana asks and Mikhail nods “They're out.”The drive to the hospital feels longer than the last one.Jaylen is already there when they arrive.He looks calm. Too calm. His hands are folded in front of him, posture composed, face unreadable. He

  • Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore    TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE

    Mikhail drives slower than usual.Diana notices it the moment they pull away from the curb. His hands are steady on the wheel, posture straight, eyes fixed ahead, but there is a restraint to him that feels unnatural. Like a man holding himself back from breaking something.Or someone.She watches the city blur past the window, then glances at him. His jaw is tight. His mouth set in a line that means he is thinking too much.“You’re going to wear a hole through the road,” she says softly.He exhales through his nose but does not look at her.“I am not worried,” he says.She almost laughs.She reaches over and rests her hand on his thigh, grounding herself as much as him.“Don’t lie to me,” she murmurs. “This is already messy. You don’t have to pretend.”He finally looks at her then. Really looks at her. His gaze drops briefly, involuntarily, to her belly before returning to her eyes.“What if,” he says quietly, “the baby is his.”The words hang between them.Diana turns them over in he

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