All Chapters of Forgotten Wife: My Ex-Husband Regrets It After I Left : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Sienna’s POV "You shouldn’t yell at your own child, Sienna." That was it. No questions. No context. No one on my side. I gave a small nod. My back felt heavy, and my fists clenched at my sides, but I said nothing more. Because… what was the point? In this house, I never win. I stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the dining table that now felt so far away, even though it was just a few steps from me. Over there, Noah was still quietly sobbing in Emily’s arms. My little boy, who used to fall asleep only while holding my hand, now rested his head against another woman’s shoulder. A woman who came out of nowhere and had somehow become the center of their world. “Noah, sweetheart, that’s enough,” Emily said softly, stroking his hair. “It’s not good to keep yelling like that. You’ll get a headache.” Noah shook his head hard, his face flushed with frustration. “I don’t want Mommy to come to school! I want Auntie Emily instead!” Liam, still standing near the doorway, folded his

Sienna’s POV I stood for a moment at the doorway, letting the midday light seep through the strands of my tangled hair. The room felt stifling—like my heart. How many days had I shut myself away like this? Everything seemed to spin so fast, yet strangely slow. Outside, the world kept turning. Meanwhile, I was left behind, frozen in place. My breath felt heavy, but there was nothing to do except push myself to keep moving. I stepped forward slowly. Each footfall felt like stepping on shards of glass. The wounds inside me hadn’t healed, but I had to hide them—especially when Noah was home. But this morning—or was it already afternoon?—I hadn’t expected him to laugh so freely. His voice rang out bright, clear, full of a joy that once used to shine for me. Now… it sounded like it belonged to someone else. I walked through the hallway, my eyes brushing over the walls filled with Noah’s drawings. I used to be the one sitting with him, drawing, coloring, helping him tape up his favorite d

Sienna’s POV Emily walked toward her vanity, never sparing me another glance. She dried her hair briskly, as if trying to wipe away the awkwardness of my presence. She placed the towel on the chair, then looked at me through the mirror. “If you want to help, just do it from outside. I don’t like people touching my personal things, especially in my room,” she added, her voice now sharp enough to cut through bone. I took a slow breath, holding back the anger that pressed heavily in my chest. I hadn’t even wanted to be in this room. But out of duty—out of a routine I still tried to uphold even though I knew my place had been replaced—I came. “Alright,” I said quietly. I lowered my gaze and reached for the folded clothes I hadn’t yet set down. “Sienna,” she called suddenly, stopping me at the door. I turned my head slowly. Emily was staring at me, eyes narrowed. “I know you don’t like having me here. But don’t think you can win anyone’s sympathy in this house just by acting sweet o

Sienna’s POV My heart felt crushed from the inside. How did this home—once filled with laughter, love, and sacrifice—turn into a prison of blame, hatred, and exile? Liam... the man I once proudly called mine, the one I once called home. Now he doesn't even have a shred of trust in me. He just stood there in silence while I was accused of stealing. Just watched, frozen, letting me get slapped without a single word of defense. Noah... my son. The child I gave birth to with so much pain. The one I kissed every night before bed. The one I lovingly made school lunches for every morning. Now he’s hugging another woman right in front of me, accepting every accusation thrown my way. Tears kept falling, uncontrollably. I got up weakly, then sat on the edge of the bed. My eyes landed on the small calendar on the desk. Slowly, my hand reached out and pulled the red marker I had tucked beside it. Today… is day four in my countdown. My hands trembled as I uncapped the marker. That small c

Sienna’s POV This morning I woke up with a pounding headache and erratic breath. It felt as though I’d been trapped in a never-ending nightmare all night. But I had no time to complain. My eyes landed on the phone vibrating on the table—its screen lit up with a message from the parents' group. [Invitation for parents this morning at 8 a.m. Your attendance is requested.] My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. It was already 8:12. Without even brushing my hair properly, I grabbed my bag and jacket and ran down the stairs. I didn’t even glance at the living room—not that it mattered whether anyone noticed I was leaving or not. I drove in a panic, weaving through the morning traffic, hoping the teachers were still there, hoping I wasn’t too late. My car sped through the crawling lanes of traffic. Horns blared around me, heightening my anxiety. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my palms damp with cold sweat. I kept glancing at the clock on the dashboard—8:17. Why am I always late