Todos os capítulos de Your Husband's Real Wife: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 47

“Cel, you still with me?” Marco’s a new found friend voice came through the speaker, crisp despite the buzz of traffic in the background. Celina blinked, her hand tightening slightly around the phone. “Yeah,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. “Just… processing.” “You don’t have to say yes right away,” Marco added. “The position’s yours if you want it. Geneva’s not going anywhere.” Celina let out a slow breath as she sat on the edge of the bed, one hand absently grazing her stomach. No flutter yet. Just the quiet reminder that something—someone—was growing inside her. “Is the offer still with the housing assistance?” she asked, trying to sound more grounded than she felt. “All covered. Company apartment near the lake, health care, maternity benefits too,” Marco replied. “I wouldn’t be offering this if I didn’t think you were ready. Or that you deserve better.” Better. She glanced at the dresser. Gabriel’s watch was still there. Untouched for days. He hadn’t even both

Andrea sat at the kitchen table, the same one she had grown up doing homework on, her fingers curled around a mug of chamomile tea. Her mother moved quietly around the kitchen, the soft clinks of spoon against porcelain filling the silence that settled after Andrea finished speaking.“I loved him, Ma,” Andrea whispered, her voice raw. “And he broke me in ways I’m still trying to name.”Her mother didn’t answer right away. Instead, she slid into the chair across from her, eyes soft but worn by years of lived truth.“I know what that kind of breaking feels like,” her mother said. “Your father wasn’t always kind. He loved me like a storm loves the sea. Loud, reckless, and only when it suited him. And when he left, I thought it meant I wasn’t worthy of the quiet kind of love.”Andrea blinked. Her mother had never spoken of him this way before.“But you know what I learned?” her mother continued. “We’re not meant to carry someone else’s failure as proof that we’re unlovable. That kind of p

The apartment was small, but it was hers.Celina stood in the middle of the nursery, barefoot, holding a soft yellow blanket to her chest. The window was cracked open, letting in the scent of afternoon rain. Light spilled across the floor where a rug lay half-unrolled, its edges curling.On the wall opposite her was a name. Letters cut out of cardboard, painted lavender, taped gently above the crib."Alina."She smiled at it. The name had come to her like a whisper, one night when she couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t trendy or borrowed from someone else's dream. It was hers.Alina. A name that meant light. Rebirth. A beginning.Celina sat on the edge of the crib, which she had assembled herself after watching a dozen online tutorials. Her fingers traced the wood slowly. There were imperfections. A small chip in the paint. A screw slightly crooked. But it stood steady.Like her.She picked up a tiny onesie from the basket beside her. White with little gray clouds. She held it to her cheek, th

The wedding was simple. A garden ceremony in the late afternoon, sunlight slipping through the trees and touching the lace of Andrea’s gown like a quiet blessing. She didn’t wear white to erase the past or pretend she was starting over from nothing. She chose a soft rose color. It was warm, grounded, and entirely her decision.As her mother adjusted the veil, Andrea smiled faintly. “It’s not a fresh start,” she said, her voice calm. “It’s a continuation. Of me. Of everything I’ve survived.”Her mother nodded, brushing a loose curl from Andrea’s cheek. “You don’t have to start over. You just have to keep going. And this time, with someone who meets you where you are.”Andrea turned, her gaze catching Leonardo’s from across the garden. He stood by the altar, hands folded, eyes full of quiet awe. When their eyes met, he smiled.“Are you ready?” her mother asked gently.Andrea took one last breath. “I’ve been ready. I just didn’t know it until now.”When she finally reached him, Leonardo