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ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THREE
Last Updated:
2025-12-09 22:19:12
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Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FOUR
They reach the ridge just as the sun begins its late-afternoon descent, gold spilling over the trees like it’s trying to disguise how eerie the forest truly is. The others gather near the edge, chattering and pointing at the valley below. Diana stands a few feet away from them, close enough to seem social, far enough to breathe.Mikhail is behind her.Always behind her.He’s pretending to look at the view, but he’s not subtle. His eyes keep cutting sideways to scan the tree line on both sides of the ridge, heavy with suspicion, his shoulders squared like he’s waiting for something to step out.Diana tries not to stare at him too obviously. Except she fails.He’s tense. Too tense.Too focused on the shadows instead of the people.“Mikhail,” she murmurs softly, pretending to look at a cluster of pine trees. “Is something wrong?”“Everybody gather! Time for the ridge crossing. Careful, it’s narrow.”Diana takes a breath. The narrow path ahead is a thin strip of packed dirt, winding along
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THREE
The guide’s voice cuts through the hush of the forest, loud enough to break the spell but not loud enough to calm the pulse still drumming in her throat.“Everyone, circle back. There is still more ground to cover before lunch.”Diana swallows and turns, pretending she had not just felt her world tilt on its axis. She pretends she has not just felt Mikhail’s fingers in her hair or the quiet praise that has been echoing inside her chest since he said she was beautiful.She walks toward the group with carefully even steps. Mikhail is a silent shadow behind her, heavy, steady, powerful. When she glances back, he is not watching her. He is staring at the trees again, that same frown carved between his brows, the one she saw earlier. The one she tried to ignore.It feels different this time. Sharper. More focused.The others are chatting loudly, laughing like they have forgotten anyone else exists, but the silence between her and Mikhail hums. It feels intimate and private and dangerous in
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO
They kept walking until the path narrowed, the air shifting into something cooler. Diana heard it before she saw it, a low rushing sound growing louder with every step. The guide announced something about a “rest stop ahead,” but she wasn’t listening. Her pulse was still fluttering from Mikhail’s words, from the way his fingers had brushed her ear, from the wildflowers still woven softly into her hair.The trees parted and the waterfall revealed itself.It wasn’t large, not the kind that roared with force, but a tall silver sheet spilling into a crystal pool. Mist hung over the surface like a soft veil. Sunlight filtered through leaves and turned the droplets into tiny prisms. It looked untouched, peaceful, hidden from the rest of the loud and complicated world.The group scattered, some taking pictures, some heading toward the stones at the edge of the water. Diana stood still, letting the scene pull her in. She breathed in the scent of water and moss, the coolness licking over her s
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY ONE
The forest was quiet in that unsettling way nature sometimes chose. Peaceful, but carrying the kind of silence that made your skin prickle. Diana hiked along the narrow trail with the rest of the group, following the path that curved between tall pines and scattered ferns. Sunlight filtered through the branches, leaving moving patches of gold that danced across the ground. Her boots crunched on gravel and dried needles. She kept her eyes forward, steady, but something flickered at the edge of her vision.She froze.It was just behind a thick cluster of trees. A dark shape. Wide. Low. Moving or maybe still. She could not tell. Her breath hitched and she took a step back, her fingers curling around the strap of her backpack. Her mind ran through the frightful images she had seen online of hikers being chased, dragged, mauled. Bears were fast. Bears were terrifying. Bears did not care if you were a good person or a mother or someone who did not deserve to be torn apart.She blinked hard.
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY
The sun had just begun to stretch across the camp, brushing the trees with gold and softening the edges of the wooden tables. Diana and Mikhail walked toward the breakfast area, the smell of eggs, bacon, and brewed coffee mixing with the crisp morning air. The group was already there, chatting, laughter spilling out in low tones that reminded Diana of something she’d heard once and couldn’t place.They chose a corner, away from the main cluster, where the morning light touched the table just enough to warm their shoulders. Mikhail’s hand brushed hers as he pulled out the chair. The gesture was small, quiet, but it made her heart tick in a rhythm she was only just learning.Diana slid into the seat beside him, folding her hands on her lap, feeling the residual heat of his fingers against hers. He didn’t speak, only angled his body slightly toward her, protective, attentive, a shadow that pressed against the edges of the sunlight.She tried to focus on the food: eggs, toast, fruit—simpl
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY NINE
He followed anyway.Even when she walked faster. Even when she refused to look at him. Even when the air between them felt too tight to breathe.Her footsteps were small and quick on the forest floor, little crunches of dry leaves under her sandals. The morning was barely awake, the sky still washed in soft gray, the camp quiet except for the distant rumble of generators and the low hum of voices from the cottage. She kept her hands curled into fists. She kept her gaze forward.But he still followed.He didn’t say a word, and somehow that made it worse. His presence was heavy behind her, steady and unshakeable, like a shadow that knew her pulse better than she did.She reached the wooden steps of the cottage and climbed them quickly, fingers trembling as she pushed the door open. Warm orange lights spilled into the hall, mixing with the cold air that followed her inside. She hoped he’d stop at the doorway. She hoped he would give her space. She hoped he would understand.He didn’t.He
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