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TWENTY FOUR
Last Updated:
2025-07-23 07:51:57
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Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY TWO
The bonfire was already alive when they arrived. Not roaring. Not wild. Just a steady breathing thing in the center of the clearing, flames licking upward in soft oranges and golds, embers drifting lazily into the night like fireflies that had forgotten where they were going.People gathered in loose circles. Logs dragged closer. Laughter floated without urgency. Someone passed around cups. The air smelled like smoke and pine and something sweet that reminded Diana of childhood nights she could not fully place.She sat beside Mikhail on a low log, close enough that their thighs touched, close enough that she could feel the heat of him even with the fire between them. His arm came around her without ceremony, heavy and familiar, resting across her shoulders like it had always belonged there.The tour guide clapped his hands once, smiling too wide, voice carrying easily over the crackle of flames. “Tonight we relax. Tomorrow morning we stretch,” he said, amused by the groans that follo
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY ONE
Mikhail was already halfway across the clearing when the guide called his name.“Hey. Big guy. We need your help.”Diana watched the way he turned, a quick glance over his shoulder toward her before he nodded and jogged toward the stack of logs near the fire pit. He moved with an easy confidence that still surprised her, shoulders broad, arms corded with strength, his presence pulling attention even when he was doing something as ordinary as lifting wood.“They need help chopping for the bonfire tonight,” he called back to her. “I will be right back, okay?.”She smiled and lifted a hand, watching as he bent to lift one end of a heavy log while another man struggled at the opposite side. Mikhail adjusted his grip, muscles flexing beneath his shirt, and the log came up like it weighed nothing.She exhaled slowly.“I’ll go grab my sweater,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, and turned back toward their tent.The path was quiet. Too quiet. The wind whispered through the trees an
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY
The guide’s voice carried through the trees, loud and cheerful, calling everyone back toward the tents and away from the trees. The group shifted slowly, chatter rising as adrenaline faded. Harnesses were loosened, helmets unclipped, laughter spilling out as if nothing in the forest had weight or memory.Mikhail stayed close to Diana as they walked, his hand brushing hers, not holding yet, just there. Present and grounding. She could still feel the echo of the moment in the trees, the way her breath had caught, the way her heart had frozen in her chest. She told herself she imagined it. She told herself fear could wear familiar faces.They were almost near the tents when Mikhail slowed.“Go ahead,” he said to the others, his tone polite, calm. “We’ll catch up.”Before Diana could ask why, his fingers closed around her wrist and gently pulled her aside, deeper between two trees where the light thinned and the sounds of the group softened. Not hidden. Just private.Her pulse ticked fast
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY NINE
DIANAThe guide’s voice cut through the low hum of the camp like a bell.“Gear up. Tree climbing in ten.”There was a ripple of excitement through the group. Buckles clinked. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else groaned. I stayed where I was, finishing the last sip of my drink, watching the way Mikhail stood when there was something to prepare for. Alert. Focused. As if the world narrowed to whatever task sat in front of him.When I was done with eating, we went outside together. He came to me with a harness in his hands.“You okay with heights?” he asked quietly.“I think so,” I said, which was not exactly a lie. Heights only bothered me when I had too much time to think.“Good,” he said. “Then we do this slow.”He knelt in front of me and began fitting the gear around my thighs, his movements careful and exact. It reminded me of the way he handled weapons. The way his hands never shook. The way he treated every detail like it mattered.The straps tightened. His fingers brushed
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY EIGHT
Diana woke slowly, drifting up from sleep like someone surfacing from deep water. For a moment she didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t want to break whatever fragile, perfect thing was holding her there. The air felt different. Warm. Still. Safe in a way she had learned to trust.Then she felt it.Fingers in her hair.Not careless. Not absentminded. Slow and deliberate, as if every strand mattered. As if he was memorizing the weight of her, the curve of her skull beneath his palm, the way her breath shifted when she moved.Her lashes fluttered before she opened her eyes.Mikhail was already awake.He was sitting beside her, one knee drawn up, the other foot on the floor. He wasn’t dressed for the day yet. Just a dark shirt, sleeves pushed up, his forearms relaxed. His gaze was fixed on her face with an intensity that would have unsettled her any other time.But this morning, it didn’t scare her.It softened something in her chest instead.“Hiii,” she murmured, her voice still thick with
Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN
“I love you.” he saidOne second Diana was watching him with disbelief, the next Mikhail’s hands were on her waist and he was lifting her clean off the ground. She let out a breathless gasp as her back met the rough bark of a tree trunk. The impact wasn’t painful, not with the way his body came with her, caging her in, holding her up, as if his hands were the only thing keeping her from falling.Her legs bent instinctively around him and the sound that left him was low and harsh, like he had been holding it in for days.His mouth was on her before she could speak.The kiss wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate and consuming and full of a heat that felt like it had been building since the motel, since the rain, since the knife at the manager’s throat, since the bar, since she whispered his name in her sleep.His lips claimed hers like he was starving for her. His hands slid up and grabbed one of her boobs through her clothes. She tasted the str
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