All Chapters of He Wants Me More After Divorce: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Lyndsey’s POVThe baby kicked hard. Straight into my ribs.I gasped and pressed my palm against my stomach, fingers spreading over the tight stretch of skin beneath the T-shirt.“You’re kicking my ribs again,” I said aloud.My voice filled the flat too easily. Too loud for the small room. Too normal for everything else.“Could you maybe not.”Another kick answered me. Lower this time. Still firm, but not sharp enough to steal my breath.I let out a slow exhale and kept my hand where it was.“I’m hungry,” I said quietly. “But nothing sounds good.”The kettle ticked softly on the counter as it cooled.“I should probably eat something that isn’t cereal,” I went on, rubbing a slow circle over the curve of my stomach. “I should probably take those vitamins too.”The bottle sat across the room where I’d left it.I didn’t move toward it.I stayed where I was and kept talking, because the baby was the only thing left that still needed me. Talking to it was the only conversation I could have t

Estelle’s POVOur eyes met.Harrison’s face looked as wrecked as mine, sleepless, drawn tight, the skin around his eyes strained from holding himself together..Then he gave a small nod. I nodded back.This was it.“Kids,” I called toward the living room. “Table. Now.”Two voices answered at once.“But we just—”“Can’t we just—”“Five minutes!”“Now,” I repeated firmly.A moment later came the scrape of chairs and the shuffle of feet. Chloe appeared in the kitchen doorway first, Lucas right behind her, both of them stopping mid-step when they saw the cake.They stared at it.“Can we have cake first?” Lucas asked immediately, sliding into his chair without waiting for permission. His eyes stayed fixed on the buttercream.“Obviously,” Chloe said decisively, climbing up beside him.Their knees bumped under the table. They settled the way they always did, shoulders nearly touching, elbows close, two halves of something that had never needed explanation.“After,” Harrison said calmly, pull

Estelle’s POVHarrison and I just sat there while the children demolished the cake with the single-minded focus only seven-year-olds could manage.Lucas somehow acquired the corner piece, an outcome Chloe was still loudly disputing, and he was shoveling bites into his mouth so fast frosting was already smeared across both cheeks.His hearing aids were dotted with tiny flecks of chocolate, something I would once have immediately corrected. Now I just watched.Chloe, apparently deciding diplomacy was pointless, had retaliated by scooping an enormous extra glob of icing from the side of the cake. She ate it straight off the knife before either of us could intervene.“Chloe,” I said automatically.“It’s efficient,” she replied with her mouth full.Lucas snorted so hard a crumb shot out of his nose. Harrison made a strangled noise beside me that might have been laughter.Our knees were still touching under the table. Neither of us shifted away.For almost a year we had orbited each other c

Harrison’s POVChloe called from the living room.“Lucas, do we have popcorn? I want popcorn. Mama always has popcorn somewhere.”I stood in the hallway between the kitchen and the front door, phone pressed to my ear. The smell of chocolate cake was still sweet enough to taste. Estelle lingered in the kitchen doorway, a dish towel twisted between her hands while she watched me.She couldn’t hear the voice on the line. Still, she was reading me.Her gaze followed the tension creeping up my shoulders, the angle of my neck as I listened. Before I even realized I’d moved, I shifted away from her and turned toward the front door, blocking her view as if instinct had taken control.“Mr. Emerson.” The voice on the line trembled. “This is Helena Donovan. Lyndsey’s mother.”I knew the name before she finished.Helena Donovan. I had met her three times during university, always at formal events where every glass and fork gleamed. Tailored wool, real pearls, perfect posture. The sort of composur

Estelle’s POVThe flat felt quieter than it should with two children still inside it.Harrison had left twenty minutes ago. The front door had closed behind him gently, almost carefully, as if he didn’t want the sound to travel through the rooms.The kitchen looked wrecked.Crumb-covered plates leaned against each other in the sink. Icing streaked across the table in thick finger-paint swirls. Four sticky juice glasses sat clustered beside the empty cake stand.I started cleaning because my hands needed something to do.I scraped the plates into the bin. Turned on the tap until steam curled up from the sink. The sponge dragged across the table while I wiped in long strokes, pushing hard against a stubborn ring of dried chocolate that had glued itself into the wood grain.The sponge squeaked.I pressed harder.Harrison’s face when he walked back into the kitchen after that call stayed stuck in my head. The tight line of his jaw. The clipped way he’d spoken. The fact that he’d left with