All Chapters of He Wants Me More After Divorce: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Harrison’s POV“You photographed my son through a school fence. You tracked his movements for three months. You crouched down in front of our daughter this morning and smiled at her like you had every right in the—”I stopped again because my voice was about to break and I would not give her that. I would not fall apart in this flat in front of this woman.Lyndsey unfolded her arms and held both hands up. “Harrison, please, you don’t understand what’s happening. The photos aren’t—someone must have put them here. I’ve been set up, don’t you see? Claire probably—”“Mother didn’t write your handwriting in this notebook,” I said coldly. “She didn’t buy a camera from a pawn shop with cash. You did this. Every photograph, every text, every tab. You did this.”“No, you’re not listening to me—”“I’m finished listening to you!”The shout came out before I could catch it. Lyndsey flinched back against the counter.I breathed and pulled myself in. My hands were fists on the table and I made them

Karl’s POVI walked past her into the kitchen because if I stayed in the doorway I was going to fold. I pulled out a chair and sat down hard, my knees knocking lightly against the underside of the table.Estelle took the seat opposite me. A mug of tea rested between her hands; she wrapped her fingers around it and waited, watching me without blinking.I stared at the table.“Karl,” she said gently. “You’re scaring me. What happened?”“I need to tell you something,” I said hoarsely, dragging my hand over my face until my skin stung. “And I need you to let me finish before you…before you say anything. Can you do that?”She hesitated for a beat, then nodded once. “Okay.”I focused on the wood grain. A pale ring left by a glass. A shallow scratch near the edge where the varnish had worn thin.“Do you remember Sarah?” I asked carefully. “The labor and delivery nurse. At the hospital. When you had the twins.”Her fingers tightened around the mug. “What about her?”“She signed an NDA,” I sai

Estelle’s POVChloe.Her face on the sofa. One sock missing. Breath warm against my palm.The image slammed into me and held.I pressed my forehead back against my knees and dragged air into my lungs, slow and deliberate. My hands shook, but they stayed empty.Chloe was alive. I was alive. My son was alive.I’d never held him. I’d worn a black dress, sat in a pew, and said goodbye to a baby who was alive. The woman who ruined my life had bathed him, fed him, dressed him in tiny clothes while I’d mourned a child everyone told me was dead.My palm slammed into the step again.The crack bounced off the concrete walls. Heat spread across my skin, bright and stinging, while my fingers curled tight against the pain.The hospital forced its way in next. The first time I’d touched Lucas’s hair during an examination, dark strands sliding between my fingertips…Another memory shoved forward.The night I’d sat beside his hospital bed, watching his chest rise and fall and counted every breath und

Harrison’s POVEstelle watched me across the table. Her swollen eyes held something I couldn’t meet directly. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t anger either.It was worse than both.Understanding.“When you came back,” I continued hoarsely, “and started treating Lucas, I watched you with him.”My fingers locked together again.“I watched you comfort him. I watched you cry when he hugged you. I watched you call him baby in the hospital room when you thought nobody was listening.”The pressure in my hands built until the joints ached.“I saw all of that and thought you were choosing not to acknowledge him.” I stared down at the table. “I thought you were pretending he wasn’t yours because admitting it would have been inconvenient. Because you had moved on. Because Karl and Chloe were your real family now and Lucas was just…”The sentence died halfway through.I pushed back from the table and stood. The chair legs scraped against the floor while I crossed the kitchen to the window.My palm press

Harrison’s POVClaire’s eyes moved to Sarah. Then to Estelle. Then back to me.“Harrison, whatever this woman has told you—”“I’m not asking her,” I interrupted quietly. “I’m asking you.”She pressed her lips together. Her hands stayed folded in her lap, perfectly still, too still, I knew now. People fidget unless they’re concentrating on not fidgeting.“Did you pay Sarah fifty thousand pounds to tell Estelle her son died?” I asked.Mother didn’t answer immediately. Three seconds of silence. Four. I counted them.“Yes,” she said.The word landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.Sarah made a small sound from the sofa, a strangled exhale, and shrank deeper into the cushions. Greaves didn’t move. Estelle didn’t move.“I did what was necessary,” Mother continued. “Estelle was a young woman. Alone. Unstable. She was planning to flee the country with a newborn, running from her own marriage, making decisions driven by—”“You stole her baby,” I said flatly.“I gave your son