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Chapter 15: Coffee with the Wrong Man
publish date:
2026-09-05 11:34:17
Latest chapter
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 115: A Different Kind of Promise
When the meeting ended, Charlotte walked between us toward the school entrance. She held Liam’s hand on one side and mine on the other. Neither of us spoke for a while. Then she looked up at me. “Mommy?” “Yes, sweetheart?” “Are you angry?” The question caught me off guard. “Angry? Why would I be angry?” “Because I didn’t tell you about Ethan.” I stopped walking. Liam stopped beside me. I crouched in front of Charlotte. “I’m not angry with you.” “But I should have told you.” “Maybe you could have told us sooner, but that doesn’t mean you did something wrong by being scared or upset.” She studied my face. “I thought if I told Daddy, he’d talk to the teacher. And then Ethan would know I told.” I understood then. It hadn’t been that she didn’t want our help. She had been afraid that asking for help would make things worse. “That’s a very real worry, sweetheart,” I said. “But you shouldn’t have to put up with someone being mean to you just because you’re afraid they’l
The Wife He Loves to Hate CHAPTER 114: THE PARENT WHO ALWAYS CAME
Charlotte had stopped crying by the time we entered the conference room, but she hadn’t let go of Liam’s hand. She sat between us, her small fingers wrapped around two of his, her eyes fixed on the floor. Every now and then, she glanced at me as if checking whether I was still there. I kept my hand on her back. “Would you like some water, sweetheart?” I asked. She shook her head. “All right.” I wanted to ask what had happened. I wanted to know why she had been crying, who had hurt her feelings, and whether Sophie had been involved. But the counselor had asked us to let her settle first. So I waited. A few minutes later, Charlotte’s teacher, Mrs. Anderson, entered with a folder tucked beneath her arm. She was a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a calm manner, although the expression on her face suggested that the situation was more serious than an ordinary disagreement between children. “Thank you for coming in so quickly,” she said. “Of course,” Liam replied. “How is
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 113: I Can Handle It Myself
That evening, Charlotte barely touched her dinner. She answered Liam’s questions about school with the same short responses she had given me. When he asked about her reading assignment, she completed it without complaint. When he reminded her to put her schoolbag by the door, she obeyed. On the surface, she was perfectly well behaved. That somehow worried me more. After dinner, I found her sitting on the floor of her bedroom, arranging her stuffed animals in a neat row. I knocked gently against the open door. “Can I come in?” “Sure.” I sat beside her. “That’s a very impressive collection.” Charlotte picked up a small rabbit and placed it at the end of the row. “They’re having a meeting.” “About what?” “Important stuff.” I nodded solemnly. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.” That earned me a tiny smile. I took the opportunity to ask, “Can I talk to you about Sophie?” Her smile disappeared. “Mommy…” “I know you don’t want to talk about it.” “Then why do you
The Wife He Loves to Hate CHAPTER 112: THE FRIEND SHE LOST
By Wednesday morning, I had learned three new things about my daughter. Charlotte hated having her toast cut into triangles. She preferred her school socks folded over once rather than pulled all the way up. And when something bothered her, she became exceptionally interested in the contents of her breakfast plate. The third discovery was the one that worried me. “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?” “Mm-hmm.” “Anything interesting happen yesterday?” “Nope.” I watched her push a piece of toast around her plate. “Did you have fun with Sophie?” Her little hand stopped. Only for a second, but I noticed. “She was busy.” “Oh.” I reached for my coffee. “Busy doing what?” “Playing.” “With you?” Charlotte shook her head. I waited for her to elaborate, but she returned to her toast as though the conversation had ended. Across the table, Liam glanced at her before looking at me. I recognized that look. It was the look of a man who had noticed something but wasn’t sure whether
The Wife He Loves to Hate Chapter 111: The Things He Remembered
“Where’s my purple water bottle?” Charlotte asked as she finished breakfast. “In your schoolbag?” I suggested. She shook her head. “I checked.” “On your desk?” “No.” “By your bed?” “No.” I glanced at Liam. He didn’t even lift his head from his phone. “Second drawer in the kitchen island,” he said. Charlotte hurried over and pulled open the drawer. There it was. She held it up triumphantly. “Thank you, Daddy!” “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” I watched them for a moment. Liam had an answer for everything. He knew which bottle she preferred, which socks made her feet itch, and which side of the car she liked to sit on. He knew that she hated the crusts on her sandwiches but would eat them if they were cut into little triangles. He even knew that she preferred her schoolbag packed the night before because mornings made her nervous when she couldn’t find things. I didn’t know any of that. And I hated how much it bothered me. Not because Liam had done anything wrong. He
The Wife He Loves to Hate CHAPTER 110: THE THINGS MOMMY DOESN’T KNOW
The first thing I learned about being a mother was that mornings could be surprisingly cruel. Not because Charlotte was difficult. She wasn’t. The problem was that everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing, while I stood in the middle of her bedroom holding a hairbrush like it was a foreign object. “Mommy, that’s not the one.” I looked down at the brush in my hand, then at the three others scattered across Charlotte’s dressing table. “Then which one is it, sweetheart?” “The purple one.” I picked up the purple brush. Charlotte shook her head. “Not that purple one. The other purple one.” I stared at the brushes. There were two purple brushes. Of course there were. “Right,” I murmured. “The other purple one.” From the doorway, Liam made a suspicious sound that might have been a cough if I were feeling generous. I turned my head slowly. “Are you laughing at me?” “Not at all.” “Your face says otherwise.” “My face is innocent.” “Your face is a terrible l
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