บททั้งหมดของ Divorced: Her Ex Husband’s Regret: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

ScarletI wake to the sound of shouting.At first, it feels like a dream — voices muffled, distant, tangled with the heaviness still weighing down my limbs. My head throbs, a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes as I try to move.I can’t.My body feels foreign. Heavy. Unresponsive.The mattress dips beside me.“Get the hell out of my bed!”Elijah’s voice cuts through the fog like a blade.My eyes snap open.The room spins violently, my stomach lurching as I turn my head. It takes a moment for my vision to clear — for shapes to become people — and when it does, my breath catches painfully in my throat.There is a man beside me.Half-naked. Panic written all over his face as he scrambles away from me, tugging at his clothes like his life depends on it.“What—?” My voice comes out hoarse. Weak.Elijah stands at the foot of the bed, fury etched into every sharp line of his face. His chest rises and falls heavily, hands clenched into fists at his sides.I’ve never seen him look at me like this

Elijah The door closes behind Scarlett with a sound that echoes far longer than it should. I stay seated. I don’t know why. The chair feels heavier than it did minutes ago, like standing would require admitting something I’m not ready to face. The room smells faintly of her perfume—soft, familiar—and it irritates me more than it should. “She always had a flair for dramatics,” my mother says, breaking the silence. “Running off like that.” I don’t respond. Across the table, Elise crosses her legs gracefully and gathers her purse, her movements calm, composed. She doesn’t rush. She never does. Everything about her is intentional. “Well,” she says lightly, “that went… better than I expected.” I finally look at her. She’s smiling—not cruelly, not openly triumphant—but there’s something satisfied in the curve of her lips. Like a woman who has just stepped into shoes she knows fit perfectly. Alice laughs. “You handled yourself beautifully, dear. So poised. So dignified. Unlike—” Sh

ScarlettThe house is quiet again.Too quiet.Not the comforting kind that wraps around you like a blanket, but the kind that presses against your chest until breathing feels like work. Dara had left hours ago, after insisting I drink ginger tea and eat half a slice of toast. I managed three bites before my stomach turned violently against me again.Morning sickness, the doctor had called it.As if naming it made it gentler.I curl onto my side, knees tucked to my chest, one hand resting unconsciously on my stomach. It’s still flat. Still empty-looking. If I didn’t know better, I’d think everything inside me was imagined. A cruel trick my body was playing to distract me from heartbreak.But I know better.There’s a life growing inside me.A tiny heartbeat that doesn’t care about betrayal or lies or how easily love can be discarded.My son.The word settles heavily in my chest. Terrifying. Sacred. Mine.I squeeze my eyes shut as another wave of nausea rolls through me, dragging with it

Scarlett I tell myself I’m calm.I repeat it as the car rolls through the familiar streets of Willow Creek, past manicured hedges and towering estates that look untouched by time or heartbreak. I’ve returned to this city dozens of times in my mind over the past two years—sometimes with anger, sometimes with fear—but never like this.Two years since I left with nothing but a broken heart and a secret I’ve learned to protect with my life.Today, I’m here for business.Nothing more.My son is miles away, safe, unaware that his mother has just crossed back into the city that never knew he existed.“Ms. Beckett,” my driver says politely, slowing near the glass-fronted Windsor Finance building, “we’ve arrived.”“Thank you,” I reply, smoothing my skirt as I step out.I picture Carter’s face for half a second—his laugh, his dimple—then lock that part of myself away.The air feels different here. Thicker. Charged. I ignore it.Inside, the lobby hums with quiet efficiency. Wealth doesn’t n

Elijah I take the stairs two at a time.The house is too loud when I arrive—voices overlapping, hurried footsteps, Elise’s sharp instructions ringing down the hallway. The smell of antiseptic hits me before I even see the doctor. It’s wrong in this house. This house is supposed to smell like polish and expensive candles, not hospitals.“Elijah,” Elise says when she spots me, relief flashing across her face before irritation settles in. “You’re finally here.”I ignore the tone and move past her.My mother is lying on the sofa, pale against the cream upholstery, eyes closed, her breathing shallow. A man in a white coat is packing away equipment beside her.“I’m Dr. Adeyemi,” he says, standing and extending a hand. “I was called when Mrs. Griffin collapsed.”“What happened?” I ask, my voice tighter than I want it to be.He gestures for us to step aside. “We should speak privately.”That’s never a good sign.We move a few feet away, though I don’t take my eyes off my mother. “She fa