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CHAPTER 63: PROTECT ME?

Author: Frya Isaac
last update publish date: 2026-09-22 12:30:50

The next morning, the sharp chime of the penthouse doorbell rang through the quiet halls.

I was sitting at the marble kitchen island, wrapping both hands around a mug of dark coffee, when Mrs. Miller hurried toward the foyer to answer it. A moment later, her surprised voice carried across the high ceilings:

"Mr. Hart?"

I froze, setting my cup down with a quiet clatter. My father?

I stood up immediately, smoothing down my sweater. Patrick Hart stepped into the formal living room. He looked n
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  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   Chapter 129: The Question Liam Asked

    That evening, Liam came home earlier than usual. I was in the living room when he entered, carrying his briefcase in one hand and his phone in the other. “Where’s Charlotte?” “Upstairs. She’s drawing.” He set his briefcase down. “How did things go with Sophie?” I told him about the conversation at school, the call from Mrs. Collins, and Charlotte’s drawing. Liam listened without interrupting. When I finished, he leaned against the back of the sofa. “Did she ask you to speak to Sophie’s parents?” “No.” “Did she ask you to talk to the teacher?” “No. She just wanted me to listen.” He nodded. “Then I think we should let her decide what she wants to do next.” “I agree.” Liam looked toward the stairs. “I hate that she’s hurting.” “So do I.” “I keep thinking about how easy it would be to tell Sophie to leave her alone.” I gave him a small smile. “I had the same thought.” He looked at me. “But we won’t.” “No.” For a moment, neither of us spo

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   Chapter 128: The Girl Who Didn’t Want to Lose Her Friend

    Charlotte was unusually quiet on the drive to school. She sat in the back seat with her sketchbook resting on her lap, turning its pages without drawing anything. Every few seconds, she glanced out the window. When we stopped at a red light, I caught her looking at the school entrance in the distance. “Are you nervous about seeing Sophie?” I asked. Her fingers stopped moving. “A little.” “That makes sense.” “Are you going to talk to her?” I turned slightly in my seat. “Do you want me to?” Charlotte considered the question. “I don’t know.” I resisted the urge to give her an answer too quickly. The last thing I wanted was to make her believe that I would step in every time a friendship became difficult. “Would it help if I waited with you until you felt ready to go inside?” She nodded. When we reached the school, I walked her to the entrance. A few children were already gathered near the playground, their voices carrying across the courtyard. Charlotte’s gaze

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   Chapter 127: A Different Kind of Partnership

    I eventually turned off my phone.“Can we start again?”Liam looked at me cautiously. “How?”“By talking about Charlotte without either of us assuming the other is trying to take something away.”He was quiet for a moment before pulling out a chair at the kitchen table.“Okay.”I sat opposite him.For a few seconds, we looked at each other across the table, neither of us quite certain where to begin.Finally, Liam asked, “What do you think she needs on Friday?”The question was simple.But the way he asked it made my chest ache.He wasn’t asking what I thought he should do. He wasn’t asking why I didn’t trust his judgment.He was asking what I thought Charlotte needed.“I think she needs to know that going back doesn’t mean she has to prove anything,” I said. “She can enjoy the art club without turning it into a test of whether she’s brave enough.”Liam nodded slowly.“That’s fair.”“And I think she should know she can tell us if something happens. Not because we’ll rush in and fix it

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   Chapter 126: The Mother Who Wasn’t There

    Liam looked at her for a long moment. There were so many things he could have said. He could have reminded her that he had spent years learning how Charlotte took her tea, which bedtime stories she requested when she was frightened, and which stuffed rabbit she needed beside her pillow when she was sick. He could have told her about the mornings when Charlotte refused to let him leave for work until he promised to come home before dinner. About the nights she had cried because she missed him, even when he was only downstairs finishing a phone call. He could have listed every little thing he knew. Instead, he said, “What do you actually know about her, Abby?” The question silenced her. Liam seemed to hear the cruelty in it only after it had left his mouth, but he didn’t take it back. “What do you know about what makes her feel safe? What she does when she’s upset but doesn’t want anyone to notice? What she needs when she’s had a bad day?” Abigail’s fingers curled against the e

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   Chapter 124: Always and Always

    We stayed in the kitchen for a while, talking more calmly about what had happened at the presentation. Liam told me about the first time Charlotte had fallen off her bicycle. She had scraped her knee, cried until she could barely catch her breath, and refused to get back on it. He had wanted to put the bicycle away. Instead, after she calmed down, he had asked whether she wanted to try again. “She did,” he said. “Eventually.” I smiled. “See? You already know how to do this.” He shook his head. “That was different.” “How?” “She was little. She didn’t understand the consequences. I could hold the bicycle while she learned.” “And now?” He looked toward the staircase. “Now she wants to do everything herself.” There was a mixture of pride and sadness in his voice. I touched his cheek. “She’ll still need you.” “I know.” “But she also needs to discover what she can do without you holding the bicycle.” Liam gave a reluctant smile. “You make it sound a

  • The Wife He Loves to Hate   Chapter 123: The Argument We Had to Have

    That evening, after Charlotte had gone upstairs to get ready for bed, I found Liam standing in the kitchen. He was pouring himself a glass of water, his expression thoughtful. “How was your afternoon with her?” he asked. “Good.” I hesitated. “We talked about the art group.” He set the glass down. “And?” “She misses making things with the other children. She liked preparing the garden model. She liked explaining what she’d learned.” Liam nodded, but his expression remained guarded. “I’m glad she enjoyed part of it.” “Lee, I think we should let her decide whether she wants to join the group.” He leaned against the counter. “I haven’t told her she can’t.” “No, but you told her she didn’t have to. And I think she heard that as permission to avoid something she’s afraid of.” “Abby, she is seven years old.” “I know how old our daughter is.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. Liam’s eyebrows rose slightly. I took a breath. “I’m not saying she should be forced to

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