Chapter 3

Elena POV 

Everything I worked for over the past five years began to fall apart in less than a day. 

The moment Marcus's television interview aired, my world, my carefully, peaceful rebuilt world, fell open all at once. I hadn't even been watching the screen; my focus was on Diego's trembling little hand in mine and the blood staining his lips.

But the name, my name from his lips.

“Elena Ashford.”

My chest ached and for a second I genuinely thought I was going to pass out or lose my mind. The hospital television was mounted high on the waiting -room wall, the volume was low, but somehow his voice still sent waves of shock down my spine.

Five good years!

Five years of rebuilding myself from nothing- he just came out of nowhere. And then he said it, publicly, clearly, without hesitation. “My greatest regret is losing my ex-wife, Elena Ashford…and never having children.”

Like it was a normal thing to say out of a blue moon on a Monday morning!

With no consideration?

Was this a way to boost his political career more?

To be felt pity on. 

Gosh!

Reporters ate those words alive without even asking further questions. I didn't hear anything after that because a nurse rushed to tell us Diego needed another immediate test.

Reporters tracked me down faster than I had believed possible. Cameras flashed outside the hospital windows. My old last name was dragged out swiftly and the story of the mayor's vanished wife became the kind of televised circus I had run from.

And by noon, they were everywhere.

At my apartment, my clinic, Diego’s daycare.

All the places I’d fought to make safe.

Just why had he decided to ruin me! 

Even Dr. Sarah Chen,my anchor through every struggle, looked shaken when she returned from a phone call.

“Elena, I'm sorry “ she said and I raised my worried gaze at her.

“Sorry, what?”

She sighed, gently squeezing my shoulder. “They fired you. The clinic director…he said the media presence is too disruptive and it sent people away.”

It hit harder than I expected. The job wasn't glamorous, but it was mine. It was honest. It lets me take care of Diego. It changes my wardrobe. And now it was gone because of Marcus's inconsiderable words.

Wasn't it funny?

No text, no call, no announcement of being worry for five fucking years and now when he wants to make another appearance after two years, he used me!

How selfish can he be?

How selfish can he be to invade my carefully laid life!

“I'm so sorry, Elena. You deserve none of this.”

An hour later, the daycare called. Then the apartment landlord, then someone attempted to reach me pretending to be a journalist, using different numbers each time.

And then my grandparents!

Really? Marcus Ashford?

I held onto Diego the whole time, even while nurses checked his vitals. My son was pale and exhausted, but the doctors said he was stable for the moment. That should have calmed me.

But it didn't 

“Mama, I want tea.” I heard the voice of my child and all the worries in my life flew away.

“Dee.” I called, jumping up from my seat as I moved closer to him with tears streaming down my face. “Are you okay? Are you okay, baby?”

“Y.  Yes” he struggled to put words together. “I just want tea.”

“Okay, let me get it for you.”

“I am scared. I want to go with you.” He yelled out in fright, making me turn back at him in concern.

“But aunt is here.” I pointed at Dr Sarah but he only cried out.

“Just take him along with you, Elena.”

He held my hand, his steps slow and weak. I was focused on him, his breathing, his color, the slight wobble in his knees—when a man suddenly stepped out from behind a supply cart.

A reporter.

A grown man, leaning down toward my child. “Diego,” he said, clicking on a recorder. “What does it feel like to know the mayor is your father…”

I snapped.

Instinct drowned everything else out. I shoved him back so hard his shoulder hit the wall.

“You get away from my son,” I snarled, my voice shaking with pure fury. “He has nothing to do with your story.”

“Ma’am,” he stammered, fumbling for his camera, “the public has a right to..”

“My son’s father is dead,” I cut him off. “He was a good man. His name was Yosef Martinez. And you will never speak to my child again.”

It was a lie. A lie I’d formed without even thinking too hard. 

Then the reporter said it.

“How does it feel being in the same hospital as your ex-husband? Why does the child look so much like Mayor Marcus?”

I froze.

Cold washed through me so sharply it felt like a slap. “What did you say?”

He lifted his tablet, showing a headline:

“MAYOR MARCUS ASHFORD COLLAPSES AFTER LIVE INTERVIEW.”

Collapsed.

Hospitalized.

Here.

In the same building.

I didn't remember making the decision. It simply happened, an instinctive, furious movement covered by years of hurt, anger, and fear made my blood boil.

I matched towards the possible place he could be, dropping Diego off to Sarah.

The VVIP sections.

I won't let this go. 

Not when my child's safety had been ripped apart. Not when he had just cost me my job and my son's daycare. 

My whole life!

Security tried to stop me at his VIp Ward. “Ma'am, you can't..” but I didn't slow down. Rage gave me that strength I didn't know I still possessed.

“I'm his ex wife,” I said, with a very calm voice. “And if you touch me, I will scream this entire hospital down until every reporter downstairs hears it. Isn't that what your boss wants from me?!”

They froze, shocked at how fierce I looked.

And that was all it took for me.

I pushed open the door before any of them could react and there he was.

The Almighty Mayor of the town. Mayor Marcus Ashford. Lying in a pristine white hospital bed, pale under the light, monitors beeping steadily beside him. His chest rose and fell slowly, his hair missed, his usually immaculate appearance completely undone.

A man who once made me feel invisible. A man who now suddenly announced for me to be found.

What a despicable man!

My hands trembled at my sides.

Everything I had tried to hide, rushed back, that instant. 

My heart was beating, beating crazily like I had just had an encounter with the remote control that commands it. 

Five years of raising our son alone.

I took one step forward, my voice cracking as I said his name for the first time in years.

“Marcus, what more do you want from me? Haven't you done enough already?”