All Chapters of Unworthy No More : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Isla’s POVThe first thing I noticed was how hot her skin was. Sophie usually kicked her blankets off in her sleep, but tonight she was curled in a tight ball, her cheeks flushed and breath uneven. I reached for her forehead with instinct I did not even question anymore.She was burning. “Sophie,” I whispered, brushing the sweaty strands from her face. “Baby, wake up.” She whimpered but did not open her eyes. Panic buzzed low in my throat. I pressed the back of my hand against her neck, then her chest. All too warm. I fumbled for the thermometer, praying I was just being paranoid, praying this was not real.It beeped. 39.6°C 103.3°F I bolted upright. It was close to midnight. The rain outside had not stopped all day, steady, heavy, like the sky itself was grieving with me. Thunder grumbled in the distance, and the wind clawed at the window panes.I looked around the small apartment Lia had helped me rent, barely big enough to hold t

Isla’s POVNathaniel had still not signed the divorce papers. And now the hearing date for custody was officially set. I stared at the line that said “Applicant requests full custody citing emotional instability and unfit living conditions.”I touched the edge of my name tag, still clipped to my uniform. My throat tightened. Then, for the first time in days, I reached for my phone… and called him. He answered on the third ring. “Isla?” My voice was quiet. But sharp. “Why haven’t you signed the divorce papers?” Silence.“Do you think if you delay this long enough, the court will see me as unstable?” He sighed. “That’s not it.” “Then what is it, Nathaniel? Why do you want to hurt me more than you already have?” He did not reply.I felt the rage build in my chest like a fire. “You walked out of our marriage long before I ever did. But I am the one who is still picking up the pieces. Alone.” He muttered something I could not hear.

Isla’s POVThey may have broken my heart, but I’ll be damned if I let them break my daughter’s spirit too. That was the only thought holding me upright as I stood in the hallway of Little Horizons Preschool, waiting for Sophie to finish her art class.The walls were lined with scribbled rainbows, handprint butterflies, and cut-out suns with smiling faces. Somewhere down the corridor, a child giggled, and another sneezed. Ordinary sounds. Soft, innocent. And I was standing there, spine straight, hands clenched, heartbeat steady, like a soldier on the frontlines.I had just submitted the final documentation to my lawyer for the custody case, every receipt, every school record, every inch of proof that I was not just a mother, I was the mother. The one who stayed. The one who dried the tears and kissed every bruise. The one who made paper crowns out of cereal boxes and told bedtime stories with different voices for each character. And yet… I was the

Isla The day of the final custody hearing arrived with grey skies and tension so thick I could barely breathe. My palms were damp, my stomach coiled tight with anxiety. Sophie clutched my hand outside the courtroom, unaware of the battle about to unfold inside.Nathaniel was already seated at the plaintiff's table. He looked tired, the lines around his mouth deeper, his posture less arrogant than usual. Yet when his eyes met mine, something flickered...guilt? Regret? I did not have time to decipher it.The judge entered. Proceedings began. Nathaniel’s lawyer painted me as financially unstable, emotionally overwhelmed, and unequipped to provide Sophie with a “stable, supportive home environment.”My lawyer, a sharp but compassionate woman named Ms. Tarrant, countered with testimony from my employer, documentation of my stable job and rising performance, character witnesses from the neighborhood, and even notes from Sophie’s teacher, praising the child’s cheerful demeanor and emotional

IslaBy the time I stumbled into my apartment, my feet were screaming in protest. I kicked off my heels the way a prisoner sheds shackles, wincing as the raw skin at my heels caught on the strap. Blisters. Deep ones. I hobbled to the bathroom, filled a basin with warm water, and lowered my feet in with a hiss that could have woken the dead. The sting made my eyes water, but the relief was immediate.It’s strange how pain can be grounding. Every throb reminded me of the long days I had survived, the courtroom, the tension, the way my pulse had pounded when the judge finally spoke those words: custody granted. My daughter was mine. No amount of swelling or skin rubbed raw could compete with that feeling.I leaned back against the wall, letting the warmth seep into me. My mind wandered, as it always did at night, to everything I had left behind and everything I still had to rebuild. My parents… after all those years, seeing them outside the courthouse had been like stepping into a photog