All Chapters of Unworthy No More : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Isla's POV It was barely more than a whisper. “Viola… I loved you so deep… don’t leave me. I only love you…” The words were not meant for me. I stood there, frozen at the threshold of his hospital room, the scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose, and for a second, I genuinely believed I was dreaming. No, hallucinating. Maybe I had been up too long. Maybe my brain was making things up because it could not handle any more disappointment. But then he said it again. “Viola... I missed you every day.” I did not move. In fact, I could not move. The bouquet of pink carnations slipped from my hand and scattered across the linoleum like forgotten confetti. He once told me carnations reminded him of his parents' love. I bought them every time I visited a hospital, just in case they cheered him up. But right now, I wanted to stomp on them. He lay there with his eyes closed, still pale from the surgery, the monitor rhythmically beeping beside him. His lashes fluttered as if he were still dream

Isla’s POVI walked out of the hospital without once looking back. No tears fell from my eyes. There was no way I could cry over a scumbag. I felt no hesitation whatsoever and I offered no apologies.He had chosen her. That much was clear. I had clung to silence for too long, and now it had become my own noose. But no more. I was done waiting to be loved. Done waiting to matter. Heck, I was done being an afterthought, a spare tyre. The only thing I had left now was Sophie, my adorable daughter, and the promise I silently made to her as I stepped into the unknown: I will not let you grow up thinking this is love.I reached the sidewalk and raised my hand to hail a cab. It did not stop. Another passed again. I let out a self deprecating chuckle. "Even the universe is reprimanding me for my foolishness," I thought. A third tried to stop, but someone else stole it. Then I opened my purse and froze. No wallet. No cards. No cash. Just crushed receipts and old Band-Aids.My stomach twisted w

Isla’s POVThe rain had slowed to a stubborn drizzle, but the cold lingered in my bones. Sophie had stopped crying. Now she just stared, vacant and quiet, her damp curls stuck to her forehead, her cheeks pale beneath streaks of grime. Her small hand clutched my coat with just enough strength to remind me she had not let go.Yet. My knees ached from crouching. My palms stung from the rough concrete. My clothes were soaked, and felt heavy. The cold and humiliation, were clinging to me like failure itself. The puddle near the curb still rippled from when the Maybach sliced through it, baptizing us in filth like we were something to be washed away.I had never felt so unseen. Never once had I ever felt so small. I curled my arms tighter around Sophie and looked up, not expecting anything, just watching water slither down the street lamps like tears I refused to shed.And then....that sound. The low, velvety purr of an engine. I turned my head. The Maybach was back. The same one that splas

Isla’s POVI did not need to be a prodigy to know what my friend, Lia was doing. She did not want me to break down, and she also wanted me to see what I would have become if I had not foolishly given up on myself for a scumbag. She was making me see the life I abandoned, not to spite me but to invoke my fighting spirit. I was the top student in our major, and Lia knows that had it not been for marriage, I would have soared even higher than her fellow executives.The restaurant was the kind of place with low lighting and waiters who never seemed to blink. Soft jazz floated in the air, and the walls were lined with wine bottles older than my marriage. I felt out of place the moment I stepped in.Lia walked ahead, her heels clicking with confidence. She belonged here, in this world of clean collars, firm handshakes, and knowing laughter. I clutched Sophie’s hand a little tighter. She, of course, was fascinated. “Mummy, look! That fish is swimming in a plate!” I looked down. The glass fl

Isla’s POVThere is a kind of exhaustion that does not sleep with you. It just sits there, behind your eyes, under your ribs, inside your soul, reminding you that rest is a luxury, and survival is not. That is how I felt the morning I decided to reclaim my life.I left Sophie with Lia, who had managed to work from home that day. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, concern swimming in her tired eyes. “I’m not,” I said honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.” She handed me a granola bar and her MetroCard. “Take the subway. It’s faster. And cheaper.”So I did. I stood on the crowded train with strangers pressed too close, my palms sweating as I Googled job listings. My phone battery dropped steadily with each refresh. Barista. Retail associate. Receptionist. Waitress. I applied to all of them. Every single one.I was dressed decently, borrowed blouse, pressed trousers, a pair of flats that pinched my toes but still looked professional enough. My resume was a one-page whisper of my forme