His Tears, My Freedom (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back)

Lila’s POVAnother night.Another muffled moan.Another reminder that I’m nothing but a shadow in this house.I press the pillow tighter against my ears, but it doesn’t help. Their laughter—hers, especially—seeps through the thin walls, taunting me with every breathy giggle. They’re in the room right opposite mine. My husband and his mistress, making love like I never existed.Three years of marriage, and not once has he looked at me like I mattered. Like I was a woman he could love. I was just an obligation. An inconvenience. A placeholder for the woman he truly wanted. Claudia. Her name burns in my chest like acid.He made sure I never forgot. “The only reason I’m marrying you,” he’d said coldly, “is because my mother begged me to do it for her sake.”Sometimes I wonder—did he hate me, or just hated being trapped with someone beneath his standards?He once told me, expression blank, voice like steel, that when he touches me, it’s only because his body itches when Claudia isn’t arou

Lila’s POVIt’s evening of the next day now—the perfect time.Liam left hours ago for a business event that, according to the house helps, would take all night. Claudia is nowhere to be found. Most likely off spending Liam’s money, parading her little bump around the malls like it’s a crown.Good.The house is finally empty. Not just physically—but emotionally. No poison lingering in the air. No Claudia. No Liam. Only silence.My palms are sweaty as I grip the small, worn bag—barely enough to hold my things, but I can’t afford more than essentials. I drag the bag across the floor, every muscle in my body screaming from the effort. But I can’t stop. This is it. My only chance to change my fate.I keep my head low, heart thudding.Just a few more seconds. Just a few more steps, and I’ll be out. I’ll be free.I can’t sit here and let another woman write the story of my life—not when it threatens the only thing I have left that makes me feel like a woman. My child.As I reach the stairs,

Lila’s POVI stride deeper into the large living room, my steps echoing against the marble floors, the silence around me pierced only by the whispering glances of the house helps. Their stares follow me, but I don’t stop. I can’t afford to. Not today. Even I’m surprised at how I’ve managed to pull myself together, to come face to face with the man who shattered every part of me.But I guess that’s what happens when pain pushes you past your limits—when you’re driven to a corner by the very people you once called home. You learn that silence won’t save you. You learn that nothing changes unless you change it. Unless you stand up and say, “This ends now.”My hand trembles slightly as I walk towards him—towards Liam—clutching the brown envelope. The moment I see his face, I almost falter. For a moment, I see the man I once loved—the man I prayed would change. But he’s long gone. If he ever existed at all.The thought steels me.I remember every cold night, every careless word, every kiss

Lila’s POVI can’t believe I’ve been walking around the city all day.The sky has gone from a cloudy grey to a deep blue, now painted with streaks of orange and purple as night creeps in. My feet ache, each step heavier than the last. I don’t even know where I’m going. I’ve just been wandering, street after street, chasing nothing.And now… it’s dark.I have nowhere to sleep.My stomach twists painfully, a hollow reminder that I haven’t eaten a single thing today. Not even a bite. Just air and shame. I wrap my arms around myself as I pause on the sidewalk, looking around.The city glows around me—lights flickering from buildings, neon signs blinking without pause, traffic crawling down the roads with honks and grumbles. People move with purpose, heading somewhere warm, somewhere safe. Somewhere they belong.And me?I’m stuck.All alone.Just like I was three years ago—before I bumped into Madam Elara by pure accident. Before she took me in and gave me something that looked like love.

Lila’s POVI sit stiffly, back straight, as the women work through my hair. Their fingers move with practiced ease, parting, twisting, pinning. My eyes stay fixed on the floor, but my mind keeps slipping.Last night.It flashes behind my eyes like a flicker of light.That moment—right before I bit into the donut. His voice. Not loud, but distinct.He’d said my name.My head tilts slightly to the right as they pin the final curls. I squint, lips pursed in thought.Did he? My name?I tilt the other way now, almost like my head itself is trying to shake the answer loose.I’m not deaf, am I?“No… no, I heard it,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone. The stylist nearest to me pauses but doesn’t say anything.He called me Lila. I’m sure of it. My brows furrow. Unless I imagined it. Unless he said something that sounded like it. But no—that voice, it had weight. Intent.I close my eyes briefly, trying to conjure the face again.Nothing. Just a blur. Like someone smeared paint over the mem