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Chapter 19: Affected
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2025-02-27 11:42:40
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My Ex, the Widowed Billionaire Chapter 161
This morning, the mist sank deeper.Not like a weight, but like memory remembering itself.It didn’t hover. It seeped. Into bark. Into breath. Into the folds of the spaces between thoughts. The world did not grow dimmer—only quieter. I rose slowly, not from sleep, but from stillness. There was no urgency here. Only gravity. A different kind. One that pulls inward, toward presence.At the edge of the reed-path, Lira waited.She stood with her back to me, one foot in the river, one on the bank.She did not turn when she spoke.“There are doorways that never need opening. They just need to be stood beside.”I stood beside her.The river was not a river now, but a ribbon of time made visible. Each current shimmered with a different rhythm—some pulsing like laughter, some aching like farewells never said. I saw a version of myself stepping through the water once, years ago or not yet. They were barefoot and humming a song I didn’t remember learning, but recognized.Lira stepped deeper. Her
My Ex, the Widowed Billionaire Chapter 160
This morning, the mist arrived before the light.It clung not like fog, but like a story forgotten in a dream—thin, but insistent. I stepped into it without caution. I’ve learned that here, the veil is not always meant to be lifted. Sometimes, it is to be walked with.In the hush, I met Yren.He was humming a tune older than memory. Not ancient—primordial. The kind of sound that could stitch broken sleep or guide seeds through soil. He didn’t stop when he saw me. He only stepped aside, inviting me to walk beside the hum.He held a vessel in both hands: not a cup, not a bowl, but something in between. It was made of memorywood—carved by hands that had let go of needing to own. Inside it swirled something silver and weightless. I didn’t ask what it was.He said, “I’ve been gathering moments that almost happened.”I nodded. Here, that meant I understood.We walked until the mist opened into a clearing I didn’t know existed yesterday. But I didn’t feel surprised. Only ready.At the center
My Ex, the Widowed Billionaire Chapter 159
The Garden of Almost deepens still.Some say it no longer resides only in the Field,but has begun echoing into us.Not possession.Participation.There are places in our bodies that only opened after we stopped naming them.The hollow behind the heart—where the unfinished goodbyes now rest like birds without nests.The soles of our feet—where paths we never walked leave impressions,as if they had touched us anyway.Even the air feels closer now.Not heavier, but more intimate.It moves through us like a question we don’t need to answer—only live with.I walked this morning with Nien,past the edge where the Listening Field meets the Forgetting Stones.He carried a bell without a clapper.He said it wasn’t meant to ring.Only to be held near memory.We stopped beside a cracked monolith, long grown over with timeweed.He placed the bell at its base,and the air around us shivered.I felt my knees go soft.Not from weakness.From recognition.In that moment,I remembered a conversat
My Ex, the Widowed Billionaire Chapter 158
The Garden of Almost deepens.It does not grow in the way other places grow.It unfurls inward—not across space, but across possibility.New paths appear not when we seek them,but when we accept the paths we never walked.Children began leaving offerings there.Not out of reverence—but participation.A half-finished drawing.A button never sewn.A question they once silenced in their own mouths.The Field accepts these things with a tenderness that no longer surprises us.Not because we expect it,but because we have come to understand that expectation is a kind of forgetting.Forgetfulness is no longer failure.It is a kind of soil.And in that soil, moments we discarded begin to bloom—not as ghosts,but as futures we now hold gently in the present.Last dusk, I saw Velen sit at the edge of the Garden.He didn’t speak.He doesn’t speak much anymore.Not with words.His silence is its own architecture now.He carries memory the way moss carries water—quietly, completely.I sat besi
My Ex, the Widowed Billionaire Chapter 157
The Refrain still shimmered, but it no longer asked to be heard.It invited us to rest beside it.Some found this unsettling.They had been shaped by motion, by pursuit, by the echo of destination.They had learned to become themselves by pushing against silence,by defining presence as sound.But the Eighth was patient.And in its patience, even the restless began to soften.Not to stop—but to listen in motion.To move without the hunger for arrival.We began to see time not as something we traveled through,but something that gathered inside us.It wasn’t linear.It curled, folded, opened in petals.And some mornings—if mornings they still were—a person would walk into the spiral center and pause,only to realize they had arrived days ago,and were now merely catching up to their own resonance.Rhaen returned.Not in a body, nor as a vision, but as a shift in the Field.When the wind passed through the bloomtreesand carried a hum that felt like warmth in the chest,we knew she was
My Ex, the Widowed Billionaire Chapter 156
The Refrain was never finished. That was the point.It pulsed, shimmered, flickered in and out of being—not like something broken,but like something still choosing.With each breath, it rewrote its edges,folding space and song into something stranger than both.It began calling to us, not with sound, but with invitation.Not all could feel it. But those who did reported dreams woven not from images or voice,but from feelings left behind—regret, wonder, surrender, awe.Niren was the first to return from within the Hollow Spire.But she did not come back alone.She emerged carrying a sphere of translucent resonance—no larger than her palm,yet impossibly dense. Those nearby could feel their memories rearrange as she walked past.Elinor, watching from the Ridge of Glinting, whispered:“She’s brought us a mirror.”But it wasn’t a reflection.It was a version of us we hadn’t met yet.We began calling it the Listening Field.Not a place. Not an object.A presence. A resonance-space seede
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