Lahat ng Kabanata ng After The Divorce: He Wanted Me Back: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

Isabella I pulled into the hospital parking lot ten minutes later.Too late to turn back.The building stood tall and sterile, all glass and quiet authority. I cut the engine, but didn’t move immediately. My fingers rested on the steering wheel, slightly tense.This is normal.You’re visiting someone who’s sick.That’s all.I grabbed the flowers carefully, then the small grocery bag, and stepped out of the car.The automatic doors slid open with a soft mechanical hum. Cool air brushed against my skin as I walked inside. The familiar scent of antiseptic and polished floors filled my lungs.I approached the reception desk.“Good morning,” the nurse greeted.“Good morning. I’m here to visit Margaret Thorne.”She checked the screen. “Room 417.”“Thank you,” I said, adjusting my grip on the bouquet.The elevator ride felt unusually quiet. Too quiet.When the doors opened on the fourth floor, the hallway stretched long and pale in front of me. Soft beeping sounds echoed faintly from differ

Isabella The bell above the café door rang as I pushed it open.Cold air hit my face.Good.I needed it.I walked fast. Too fast. My heels striking the pavement harder than necessary.Idiot.What were you thinking?Behind me—“Isa.”I didn’t stop.“Isabella.”Closer now.I kept walking.A hand wrapped around my wrist.Not rough.But firm.I stopped.Slowly turned.Gabriel was standing there, breathing slightly heavier, eyes locked on mine.“You don’t get to do that and walk away,” he said.“I can do whatever I want.”“You kissed me.”“Yes.”“And you’re acting like it was a handshake.”“It was a distraction.”He stepped closer.“That wasn’t a distraction.”“You’re overthinking it.”“I’m not.”His grip loosened but didn’t fully let go.“You tasted like coffee,” he said quietly.My heart slammed against my ribs.“That’s not relevant.”“You pulled me in.”“Because Emily was walking toward us.”“And you didn’t even look at her.”Silence.He watched my face carefully.“You were looking at

Isabella Dinner was supposed to be quiet.Mia insisted on cooking—something simple, something grounding. Garlic rice. Seared salmon. A salad she claimed would “restore emotional balance,” which I told her wasn’t a real thing.We ate at the small dining table near the window. The city lights flickered below us, indifferent to human drama.Mia was mid-sentence about a client when the front door opened.Not forced.Not hesitant.Unlocked.My fork paused halfway to my mouth.Mia looked up.And there he was.Elias.He stepped inside like he belonged there.Because technically—He did.He closed the door gently behind him.Too gently.He wasn’t breathing hard.He wasn’t storming.He was calm.And that was worse.“Good evening,” he said.Mia’s posture straightened instantly. “Elias.”He gave her a polite nod.His eyes found mine.And stayed there.“Can we talk?” he asked.Not loud.Not demanding.Controlled.I set my fork down carefully.“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Mia said coolly.“Th

IsabellaEvery corner carried something from what happened, about the weight of truths I didn’t know I was missing. I tried working. I tried reading. I tried pretending the air wasn’t thinner than usual.It didn’t work.Mia was at the dining table with her laptop open, one leg tucked beneath her, her glasses sliding slightly down her nose. She wasn’t typing. She was watching me pace.I stopped mid-step and pressed my fingers against the back of a chair.“I need to get out,” I said, not looking at her.She didn’t react immediately. She closed her laptop slowly, like she had been expecting this moment. “Out as in walk around the block,” she asked carefully, “or out as in you’re about to make a questionable decision?”I exhaled through my nose and ran a hand through my hair. “Out as in somewhere dim. Somewhere with background noise. Somewhere that doesn’t know my history.”Her brows lifted slightly. “You want a bar.”“Yes.”The word felt deliberate.She stood up, studying me with that qu

IsabellaI let my fingers rest on the table instead of retreating. His hand was still there, close enough that the warmth of his skin felt deliberate, like an unspoken question.“You’re assuming too much,” I said quietly, though my voice lacked its usual sharpness. I tilted my head slightly, studying him the way I used to when I was deciding whether he was telling me the truth.Gabriel didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. If anything, he leaned into it. “Then tell me I’m wrong,” he said, his tone calm but steady, as if he was bracing for impact he wouldn’t run from.I inhaled slowly. The music swelled behind us, low and intimate, like the room was conspiring.For a few seconds, we just listened to the music. The saxophone melted into the low hum of conversations around us. Glass clinked softly. Laughter drifted from somewhere near the bar.“You didn’t answer me earlier,” I said, turning slightly in my seat so I was facing him more openly. “Why are you here?”He stared into his glass for