Semua Bab Chasing My Innocent Ex-wife Back: Bab 151 - Bab 160

FLORENCE’S POVThe sun was already high when I arrived on location.The air smelled like dust, fresh paint, and freshly brewed coffee from the carts we’d brought in to keep the production team alive. The old construction site looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic film—concrete slabs, exposed rebar, crumbling staircases—but somehow, we’d turned it into a vibrant, makeshift set for the campaign shoot. Camera crews darted around with headsets and clipboards, and the aspiring actors all showed up, enthusiastic and energetic, eager to prove themselves. And at the head of it all was Jason, standing near the production monitors, animatedly explaining a shot to the cinematographer like he was an Oscar-winning director. It was chaos. Beautiful, controlled chaos. The kind that made me feel like I had a purpose again.“Florence, do you want them to pan left after the third line or cut straight to the crowd shot?” one of the cameramen asked me.I blinked back into focus. “Pan left.

FLORENCE’S POVThe moment they wheeled Mason away, I collapsed into the plastic chair outside the ER like my bones had finally given up. My knees were raw from the concrete, my palms scratched, and my mouth still tasted like dust and blood.They said he still had a pulse. That was the only sentence I could remember from the whirlwind of shouting, running, loading, and sirens.A pulse.I didn’t know where to look. My clothes were streaked with dirt. My hands were shaking. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face slack and bloodied under twisted steel.“He saved my life,” I whispered, though no one was listening.And then I broke. My body caved in, shoulders curling forward, sobs clawing out of me like something wild. I cried like a child. Messy. Loud. No decorum. No holding it together. Not this time.I hadn’t cried when Jade “died” eight years ago. Or when my mother confessed to the affair. Not when my father woke up from a coma and told me that someone I trusted tried to destroy h

FLORENCE’S POVHis words hung in the air, heavy like the first breath inside an old basement finally opened after years—thick, damp, full of everything that had been stewing in the dark. It wasn’t just truth, it was rot. And now that it was out, there was no putting the air back in the walls.I blinked, not sure if I’d heard him right. The cafeteria, with its flickering overhead light and clattering trays in the background, felt like the worst place in the world for a moment like this. Or maybe the most fitting.“You’re serious?” I said.Raiden nodded. He wasn’t avoiding my eyes. He wasn’t angry or cold. Just... heartbreakingly certain.“This is because of my mom and your dad, isn’t it?” I asked, voice low. “You can’t handle us being some weird modern-day Brady Bunch?”“No.” He shook his head gently. “I’ve been staying away to stop them, yes. I thought if I could break them up, this wouldn’t get any messier. But Florence, that’s not why I’m ending this.”I didn’t know whether to lau

FLORENCE’S POVMason was discharged the same day as my father. The doctors called it a miracle. Something about where the scaffolding hit, how the beam just missed the vital arteries in his neck, how his body somehow took the brunt of the fall without collapsing entirely. I’d stopped trying to make sense of how close I’d come to losing him. I was just grateful I didn’t.The morning of his release, I wheeled my father through the hospital lobby, trying to keep the blanket from slipping off his knees while balancing my bag on my shoulder and navigating a wheelchair that kept veering slightly to the left.Clarke came around the corner at the same time, wheeling Mason beside him. Mason looked better than he had a few days ago—less pale, more upright—but the bruising around his temple was still there, and his wrist was still bandaged. I stopped close to the Whitehills and took my phone out to book a taxi home. He gave me a lopsided smile when he saw me.“You know, if you ever learned

FLORENCE’S POVSomewhere between the late-night gelato runs and the quiet mornings tangled in each other’s arms, I realized I’d let go. Of the past. Of the pain. Of the version of Mason I used to brace myself against.He was different now — or maybe just real. No longer the image I’d clung to or the man I had to shield myself from. He was present. Steady. Kind, in a way that wasn’t performative. And I had stopped waiting for it to fall apart.We weren’t perfect — God, no — but we were finally on the same page.In the months that followed the chaos, life slowly, mercifully began to resemble something soft again. We cooked together, made fun of terrible movies, and argued over what to name the new cactus I bought. He’d bring sandwiches or pasta to the office on days I forgot to eat. I’d wait up for him when he had late meetings. We made room for each other, even in the small ways. And in that space, we healed.And when bits and bobs of news came out as time went on, we allowed each o