All Chapters of His Forgotten Love Returns: The Return of the Ex-wife: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

|| Cale || I walked downstairs and found her lying on the sofa. She was fast asleep, but she had changed into her nightclothes. I couldn’t tell whether she had spent the entire night there or if she’d limped down in the early hours of the morning. It seemed she’d managed to take care of herself; the amateurish bandage from yesterday had been replaced with a cleaner one.As I stood over her, I could see the dark, mottled bruises beginning to bloom along the side of her calf and near her ankle. Seeing the physical proof of her pain made an unwanted pang of guilt twist in my gut. I had been so blinded by my own rage that I hadn’t even checked to see if she was truly hurt.I made a mental note to call a private doctor for a proper check-up later; I might hate her, but I didn’t want her blood—or a permanent injury—on my hands.The doorbell rang, the sound intrusive in the quiet house. I saw her stir, her eyes fluttering open as she winced, her face contorting briefly as she tried to shift

|| Abbie ||The next morning, I walked into the kitchen and found Cale standing by the stove, which had nothing on it, as he looked around.“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.“I’m trying to make breakfast,” he said, looking a bit out of place.“So you don’t burn anything… why don’t you move aside and let me handle it?”“You’re not better than me when it comes to the kitchen, Abbie,” he countered, though he looked tired.“Well, I am now,” I said, resting a hand on my waist. After living alone without Nana’s cooking—and without the money for restaurants—I’d been forced to learn. I wasn’t a chef yet, but I could whip up a meal that tasted like home.He moved aside, surrendering the stove, and went to sit at the kitchen island. I pulled eggs, thick-cut bacon, and bread from the fridge.In minutes, the kitchen was filled with the sizzle of grease and the aroma of browning toast. I arranged the plates on the island and added some freshly sliced fruit o

|| Cale || I was walking downstairs when I heard Beth’s voice echoing from the living room. “Don't touch a thing, Edward… I don't want any problems from this troublemaker.” “Be careful, Edward… why don't you come sit down? I don't want you to fall,” Flora added calmly. I paused on the step. I had never seen Flora this composed, this nurturing. It hit me then that maybe I had only allowed myself to see the version of her that fit my narrative of a villain. I wondered if there was a version of her that didn't involve manipulation—if she was capable of being someone different. I reached the bottom of the stairs, and all eyes turned toward me. Beth’s gaze was full of hatred; Edward looked at me with an awkward, skittish fear; and Flora… I couldn't read her. She had a way of pulling a veil over her eyes whenever she felt exposed, shutting me out of the one thing I was suddenly curious to understand. I walked straight toward Edward. “Why don't you come with me?” I asked, forcing a sm

|| Abbie || I haven't heard a single word from Cale since that afternoon we almost fucked on my kitchen island. The truth is, I still lie awake wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I wasn't drunk, yet I had completely lost myself to him. I’ve made a vow to myself: it won't happen again until he officially breaks things off with Flora. But it’s been a full week of silence—no calls, no texts, not even a shadow of him. The absence feels like a crushing weight on my chest, making me question if I was just a temporary fix for his mid-life crisis.And yet, here I was, stepping out of a cab in front of his new company. The invitation had arrived in my inbox just like it had for everyone else—formal, cold, and professional. It felt like a slap in the face to be treated like just another business associate after everything we’d shared.I straightened the hem of my dress and took a deep breath. I chose a bold, marigold-yellow silk dress with a daring side slit and a plunging neckline th

|| Abbie ||“So now I don’t know who to choose—Slade or Cale. If I follow my mind, I’ll go with Cale because I want to protect what’s mine. But if I follow my heart, I’ll stay with Slade. At least with Slade, my heart can be at peace instead of breaking every evening when I have to watch Cale say goodbye just to go home to Flora,” I ranted to Rachel.We were currently scouring a boutique for shoes, having already spent an hour picking out a new wardrobe. I had planned to spend the entire day cooped up at home, agonizing over my career move, but Rachel had insisted on a therapeutic shopping spree. She claimed it was to thank me for returning the boxes of Slade’s and her things—even some of the kids’ old toys I’d found—but I knew she was just being generous. It’s not like they needed the items; they had enough money to replace an entire warehouse of toys.“Fighting between the heart and the mind is a dangerous war, Abbie. Usually, the heart is a masochist, but the mind is a coward,” Rac