บททั้งหมดของ I Want A Divorce: บทที่ 181 - บทที่ 190

SERADarius has his back to me, one hand braced against the wall near the door. His shoulders are rigid, back expanding with each breath he takes. When he finally turns around, the sight of him steals whatever words I'd been planning to say.His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath the skin. He runs both hands through his hair and the gesture is so familiar it makes my chest ache."Sera, I—" His voice comes out rough, scraped raw. He clears his throat and tries again. "I'm so sorry."The apology hangs between us, heavy and sincere."For bringing her here. For..." He gestures vaguely toward the door, then drops his hand. "For everything. The past year. All of it. I was—" His breath hitches. "I was blind. Manipulated. But that's not an excuse for what I put you through."My throat closes up. I want to tell him it's not his fault, that Vivienne fooled everyone, that he couldn't have known. But the words won't come. They lodge somewhere between my heart and my mou

DARIUSI step into Sera's living room with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, Cathy right behind me, and the first thing I see is Johnson Smith.My entire body goes rigid.He's standing near the kitchen doorway looking completely at home in Sera's space, dressed casually in dark jeans and a gray jacket. But it's not his presence that makes my jaw clench. It's the way his etes are on Sera, the way both mother and daughter look at him with so much affection. The image of it is still branded in my memory. The bag strap digs into my shoulder as my grip tightens, my fingers curling into the nylon until I can feel the seams pressing into my palm.With Edward, she's soft but polite, her shoulders tense whenever he got too close. But with Johnson, there's none of that guardedness. She's open. Trusting. Warm in ways that make something ugly and possessive twist deep in my gut.I force myself to look away before I do something stupid like ask what the hell he's doing here.Then I see Monic

SERAThe next morning, Darius leaves early with Luna and Cathy. I watch from the window as he buckles Luna into her car seat, her small hands waving at me through the glass. The apartment feels too quiet once they're gone.My phone buzzes an hour later. Monica asking if I'd like to have breakfast with her at a private restaurant she knows. Just the two of us.I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back yes.---The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet street in the Upper East Side, the kind of place you'd walk past without noticing unless you knew to look for it. Inside, it's all warm wood and soft lighting, tables spaced far enough apart that conversations stay private.Monica is already seated when I arrive, wearing an black basic shirt and tailored pants. She stands when she sees me, and we exchange an awkward hug before settling across from each other.We order food neither of us seems particularly interested in eating. Monica makes small talk about the weather, ab

SERAThe café Edward chooses is quiet, tucked into a corner of Brooklyn with exposed brick walls and mismatched furniture. We sit at a small table near the window where afternoon light slants across the worn wood surface.He orders us both coffee. Black for him, with cream and sugar for me. He remembers how I take it, and that small detail makes my chest ache.We make small talk while we wait. Sophie's doing well in school. Luna's excited about an upcoming field trip. The weather's been unusually mild for the season.All of it feels like stalling.When the coffee arrives, Edward wraps both hands around his mug but doesn't drink. Just stares at the dark liquid like it might have answers.I take a breath and force myself to speak before I lose my nerve."Edward, I need to tell you something."He looks up, and I see in his eyes that he already knows. Has probably known for a while."I love you," I start, and watch hope flicker across his face before I continue. "And I love Sophie. You've

SERAThe tour kicks off in Boston with three days of intensive rehearsals that leave my fingers aching and my head spinning with arrangements and tempo changes.By the time we hit our first performance, I'm running on adrenaline and too much coffee. Standing backstage while the orchestra tunes, listening to the murmur of the audience filling the concert hall, I feel my pulse race with anticipation.This is mine. My music. My compositions brought to life by some of the most talented musicians in the world.The curtain rises and I lose myself in the performance.Afterward, watching the audience rise in a standing ovation, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying. This is what I've worked for. What I've dreamed about since I was a kid with nothing but a cheap keyboard and big ambitions.The first week passes in a blur of travel and performances. New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore. Different cities, different venues, same exhilaration every time I hear my music fill a concert hall.I keep