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Chapter 39: The slammed door
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2025-06-14 19:48:59
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Winning Her Back Chapter 40: The audacity of hope
Sleep had not been rest. It had been a cease-fire in the war raging inside of me. I was awakened not by sunlight, but by the faraway reverberation of a slammed door and the taste of salt from dry tears on my lips. The vacant pain hung on, a hollow dug by Ethan's words. 'Slut. Divorce. Never my wife.' They hung in the dark early morning, cutting and bitter.But another thing seethed under the pain. A spark. Delicate, stubborn, unwilling to be extinguished. The picture of that infinitesimal spark in his eyes last night, that fractional second before the ice smashed shut. Regret? Confusion? Or just the whiskey? It didn't matter. It was a crack. A hairline fracture in the bulwark of his contempt. And I, battered and bruised, had fingers curling into fists on the icy sheets. No.He never had the chance to destroy me. He never had the chance to redefine the past, to make me the villain in a story he'd poisoned with his own bitterness and Claire's rumors. The callousness of it, the sheer unr
Winning Her Back Chapter 39: The slammed door
The sound wasn't just loud; it was an act of violence. An explosion of splintering wood and shattering peace that ripped through the sanctified silence of my room like a grenade. Not a hesitant knock. Not the polite turn of a key.My bedroom door was slammed open with brutal, unrestrained force. It crashed against the wall with a sickening, reverberating THUD that shook the floorboards beneath my feet, vibrating up through the legs of the chair I sat in and rattling the windows in their frames. My sanctuary wasn't just invaded; it was obliterated.I jolted upright, the book flying from my hands and thudding to the carpet. My heart didn't just pound; it launched itself against my ribs like a frantic, trapped animal trying to escape its cage. A choked, ragged gasp tore from my throat, raw with terror. My eyes flew open, wide and unseeing for a terrifying second, pupils dilated, struggling frantically to adjust from the soft lamplight to the sudden, harsh, invasive glare flooding in from
Winning Her Back Chapter 38: Crash!
My bedroom door shut behind me with a soft, final click. The room wrapped itself around me in comforting shadows, the calming scent of lavender linen spray, and a profound, enveloping silence after the hospital's pitiless auditory onslaught. It was like being swathed in a cocoon. Sanctuary needed to be fortified. First, elimination of hospital aura. I filled a bath, water scaldingly hot, to the top of the big tub so that steam fogged the mirrors. I slipped into the scarcely scaling water with a groan that was almost a sob, the warmth extracting the bone-deep cold, the steam clearing my congested sinuses. I bathed my skin methodically, watching the suds roll down the drain, trying to wash away not just the antiseptic smell but the tacky residue of fear and helplessness. It was persistent, clinging like a second skin beneath.Wrapped in the warm, fluffy robe, my damp hair a chill weight on the back of my neck, exhaustion was a palpable pull, urging me towards the bed. I could barely ma
Winning Her Back Chapter 37: Sanctuary shattered
The antiseptic smell still lingered on my clothing, a haunting echo of the fluorescent-lit limbo that had been my world for days. The soft, steady beep… beep… beep of the cardiac monitor felt seared into my brain, a metronome for worry. Time grew meaningless within the pale green walls, marked only by the slow expansion and contraction of Mom's lungs and the steady stream of doctor updates.And then, the decision: discharge. It hit me like a punch, but one that opened a dam. Relief, profound and convulsive, surged through me so forcefully my knees buckled. I had to grab the arm of the sturdy hospital chair. Mom, propped up on pillows, was still pale, her smile faint, but it was her smile. Dad stood beside her, his hand a boulder on her shoulder, his own exhaustion etched deep but overlaid by a fierce, protective love. They were my beacon in the tempest, worn but standing. "Sweetheart," Mom's voice was papery, thin, but filled with that same familiar, stubborn strength that would take
Winning Her Back Chapter 36: Ruptured
"Mrs. Blackwell, I’m calling from Metropolitan General Hospital. Your mother was admitted by ambulance. She listed your name as her emergency contact. She requires surgery immediately."The world spun wildly around me. "Surgery?" A wailing sound tore from my mouth. Horror, cold and damp, seeped into me. Mom. My stability. Panic clamped my arms and legs. I was out of bed before the line went through, forcing myself up from the silk sheets. My numbed fingers were stumbling, my brain freezing with terror as I yanked on dark jeans and a soft sweater. Worst-case scenarios and incomplete prayers battled in my head. I had to go now. Yanking my purse, I tore out of the bedroom, my socked feet making no noise on the shining floors.I rounded into the large living room, a tornado of fear, and collided headfirst with an immovable wall of heat and expensive linen. Ethan.His arms came out in front of him, encircling my upper arms, pinning me in place. The contact was a jolt, freezing me rigid for
Winning Her Back Chapter 35: Cornered and shattered
The mansion felt less like a gilded cage and more like a vast, echoing tomb. Four days. Four days of meticulously navigating through the halls to avoid interacting with him. Four days of meals taken silently in the kitchen at odd hours, of burying myself in the library until the shelves blurred, of locking my bedroom door with a click that felt both defiant and pathetic. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant murmur from the staff, sent my heart into a frantic gallop. The weight of his presence, his anger, his betrayal, pressed down on me, a constant, suffocating fog.He’d been ominously quiet too. No demands, no confrontations. Just a simmering silence that felt more dangerous than any shout. It coiled in the air, thick and expectant, like the charged stillness before a lightning strike. I should have known it wouldn’t last.I was in my room, the late afternoon sun painting long, accusing shadows across the floor, trying and failing to focus on a book. The words swam meaningle
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