All Chapters of THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

ELENA The world seemed to tilt on its axis the moment I saw her. At first, my brain refused to process what my eyes were seeing. The woman standing a few meters away, wrapped in a blanket, her hair dishevelled, soot smudged on her face, had died. But there she was. Breathing. Alive. I turned to Damian, disbelief clawing at my throat. My lips parted, but words didn’t come out. I must’ve looked pathetic wide-eyed, trembling like a child, but he understood. Of course, he did. Damian always had that cursed ability to read what I didn’t say. He gave me a slow, solemn nod. And just like that, my knees nearly gave out. “Mom?” The word scraped out of me like it had rusted inside. Then I moved, no, I ran. Pushed Damian out of the way, my heels hitting the wet pavement so hard they might as well have been hammering my heartbeat into the ground. “Mom!” When she turned and saw me, her eyes widened, disbelief painting over exhaustion. "E-Elena?” The sound of her voice broke me. Tears I di

DAMIAN Before she could completely leave, I stopped my car and inquired her to come into my car. "Damian, I am serious now. if you don't move out of my way, I will crash you and you Maserati!" She said loudly enough like she meant it. "Get in my car, Elena." I said. "Why? Do you want to finish me?" I kept quiet, waiting until she got out of her car, and came into mine. The moment she buckled her seatbelt, I knew I was in trouble. Not the kind of trouble that gets you arrested the kind that makes you forget logic entirely. She crossed her legs, tablet in hand, and muttered, “If this turns into one of your interrogation rides, I’m jumping out at the next stoplight.” I started the engine, smirking. "Relax, detective. I’m not here to interrogate you. Just talk.” “Talking with you is interrogation.” She didn’t look up, scrolling through something on her screen. “You have that unnerving ability to make people say things they shouldn’t.” “I prefer to think of it as… conversa

ELENA Lucas and I had been talking for what felt like forever, forty-five minutes, to be exact, but I didn’t mind. He had this kind of optimism that made things sound possible, even the impossible ones. We were seated at the corner of the restaurant, the morning crowd humming around us like a distant radio. Coffee cups clinked, silverware scraped plates, and every so often, I could feel Damian’s eyes burning a hole into my temple from the chair beside me. Yes, Damian. My ex-husband. Who’d somehow turned into my uninvited third wheel of the morning. Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, a smile spreading across his face. “I know someone who can help take Golden Star Foundation to the next level,” he said. “He’s been funding similar initiatives abroad, education, healthcare, community expansion. I could set up a meeting between you two.” I smiled politely, but before I could even respond, Damian chuckled. Loudly. That deep, condescending kind of laugh that sounded

The TV murmured softly in the background, some old soap opera rerun, one of my mother’s favourites. The house was dim, the curtains half drawn even though it was barely noon. “Mama?” I called again, my voice gentler this time as I stepped into the living room. "I came back as soon as I could." She was sitting on the couch, her small frame wrapped in a knitted blanket, her eyes glazed at the screen but clearly not watching it. Her hair, once perfectly styled every morning was tied up loosely, silver strands sticking out like wild grass. And that broke me more than I’d ever admit. “Sweetheart,” she said, her tone light, almost rehearsed. “You’re back.” “Yeah,” I murmured, setting my purse down and kneeling slightly so I could see her face. “The police said you wanted to drop the charges.” Her eyes flicked away, hands tightening around the edge of the blanket. “I don’t want more trouble, Elena. That’s all. What’s done is done.” “No, Mama.” I shook my head, trying to keep my vo

DAMIAN When I walked into Angela’s room that night, the first thing I noticed was how small she looked, curled up in her pink duvet, hugging that teddy bear like it was her whole world. Marina was perched at the edge of the bed with a storybook open in her hands. The sight was… comforting. Soft. Familiar. “Marina,” I said quietly, standing at the door. “I’ll take it from here.” She looked at me, surprised. "Sir?” “I said I’ll read to her tonight.” Her gaze flickered between Angela and me for a moment before she nodded. “Of course.” She smiled gently at Angela. “Goodnight, little one.” “’Night, Miss Marina,” Angela whispered. When the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell into that warm, peaceful silence that only a child’s bedroom could have. I sat down beside Angela, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight. “So,” I began, resting my elbows on my knees. “You had a good day?” She nodded faintly, eyes still on the pages of her book. “That’s good,” I said softly.