Your Uncle, My True Love のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 80

Two days after Harry’s statement was released, a single email arrived in his inbox.The subject line was cold and formal: Contract Review and Suspension of Cooperation.There were no accusations, no anger—only distance.The next call came from a long-time sponsor. The voice sounded awkward, as if every word had to pass through a careful filter.“We appreciate your honesty,” the voice said, “but we need time to reassess our brand position.”Time.The word repeated itself. And each time it was spoken, another door closed quietly.Within a week, Harry’s schedule was empty. Meetings that once arrived uninvited no longer mentioned his name. Galleries that had routinely displayed his work postponed exhibitions without setting new dates. His accounts—once secured by annual contracts—began to shrink under expenses that could not simply be switched off.He let people go one by one, his head lowered. No one blamed him. That, somehow, hurt more.“I understand,” his last assistant said while pack

The honeymoon plans were not born from travel maps or lists of romantic destinations. They emerged quietly, from a single, simple sentence James said as they packed Ethan’s small suitcase.“Switzerland,” James said without looking up. “The first place where I realized… I was in love with you.”Emma stopped folding. The memory returned with clarity: the clean cold air, the still lake, the late-night conversations they never dared to name. Back then, Emma had been standing between old wounds and careful vigilance. James had never pushed—only stayed, steady and honest.“All right,” Emma said at last. “Let’s go back there. The three of us.”The journey was calm and comfortable. On the plane, Ethan slept against James’s chest, his small breaths even and soft. Emma rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, feeling the same rhythm—unhurried, at ease. There was none of the restlessness that had once accompanied her travels with Harry. No anxiety about what she needed to prove.Switzerland we

Their return from Switzerland did not mark the end of the magic; instead, it opened a louder chapter. Their home filled once again with schedules, messages, and meeting invitations. Emma stepped into her days wearing layered roles: wife, mother, and a designer whose name was resonating again. The dining table was often covered with sketches, fabric samples, and Ethan’s milk bottles tucked between stacks of paper. Life was no longer quiet—but it felt right.Contracts followed one after another. Fashion houses that had once waited from a distance now knocked with renewed confidence. Emma chose carefully, no longer chasing sparkle alone. She set boundaries, adjusted her pace, and made sure she was fully present for Ethan and James. There were days when virtual meetings happened while she rocked her baby to sleep, and Emma felt no guilt. The world adjusted—not the other way around.James continued to run his business with the same precision, but his rhythm had changed. He set aside more t

Morning arrived without haste. A thin ribbon of light slipped through the gap in the curtains, brushing the wooden floor with a soft golden hue. Emma woke first—not because of an alarm or lingering unease, but from a simple awareness: she was not alone, and she had no desire to move.James slept beside her, his breathing steady, his face calm. Emma studied the line of his jaw, his slightly tousled hair, the fine creases at the corners of his eyes that had grown more visible with time. There was something different about intimacy in the morning, she thought—more honest, more grounded. Night might carry the current, but morning was the harbor.She rose quietly, draped a light sweater over her shoulders, and opened the door to Ethan’s room. The baby was still fast asleep, one tiny hand grasping at the air as if holding onto a dream. Emma smiled, closed the door again, and headed to the kitchen.She made coffee and toasted bread. There was no checklist to complete that morning. No present

James’s day at the office unfolded as it always did—orderly, measured, without drama. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, reflecting softly off the polished wooden desk. He signed the final document before the meeting, his thoughts drifting briefly to a message from Emma about Ethan laughing as he learned to stand. A small smile surfaced, uninvited.A knock interrupted the rhythm.“Come in,” James said.His secretary appeared, hesitating. “Mr. James, there’s a visitor who… says this is important. Her name is Elora.”The name landed like an old echo, stirred awake. James let out a short breath. “Let her in.”Elora stepped inside with a stride he still recognized—confident, slightly hurried. Though she had crossed half a century of life, her beauty remained intact. Her hair was neatly styled, her suit expensive, her smile carrying the quiet certainty that old doors could always be reopened.“James,” Elora greeted him, as though time had frozen at a moment she herself had chosen.