All Chapters of He Wants Me More After Divorce: Chapter 241 - Chapter 250

Lyndsey’s POVWhen Karl’s name lit up my phone, I answered expecting the same tone of our last conversation, the voice of a man who wanted to say as little as possible and hang up.What came through instead was someone struggling to hold sentences together.His breathing was too fast between words, each inhale catching halfway before he forced the rest of it out.“—because I rang him back, I rang Roger back this morning, and he told me again, he said the same thing, he said—Lyndsey, are you there?”“I’m here,” I said.“Right. Good. Because I need you to—I need—”He stopped. I heard him swallow. A long pause followed, the kind where someone is pressing their hand over their mouth trying to pull themselves together.Then he started again, from a different direction, as if the sentence he’d been building had collapsed and he was assembling another one from whatever pieces he could find.“My father has been walking the garden every evening. Every single evening. Checking the fence. Checki

Lyndsey’s POVThe door swung inward faster than I expected. I had shoved harder than I meant to, and the edge swept across the carpet in a wide arc.I stepped forward—My belly caught the frame.“Ah—damn,” I muttered under my breath.The jolt stopped me short. My hip pressed against the molding and I had to turn sideways, easing myself through the gap. One hand gripped the frame. The other pressed against my stomach while the baby shifted inside me.“Easy,” I murmured quietly.By the time I made it through, my breathing had already picked up.My mother looked up.The study looked exactly the same as it always had. The walnut desk sat beneath the window, polished so well the lamp light reflected off the grain. A leather notebook rested near the edge with a pen lying across it. A crystal vase had two white roses.My mother sat behind the desk in her high-backed chair.Her legs were crossed neatly at the ankle. One hand rested on the desk. The other held her phone against her ear.Cream

Harrison’s POVThe room stayed very quiet after my question. The clock above the sink ticked once, then again, loud enough to notice now that nobody was speaking.My tea sat untouched in front of me, steam thinning into the air, while across the table my mother kept both hands wrapped around her mug as if she had forgotten to drink.“I don’t know his name,” she said quickly. “Or I…I can’t be certain.”She gripped the edge of the table with her left hand, her fingertips whitening against the oak.“He rang the doorbell last week,” she said. “I didn’t answer. He stood on the step for nearly five minutes. I watched him from the bedroom. He didn’t leave anything, he didn’t shout, he just…waited. Then he walked away.”She looked at me. Her eyes were wide. Not theatrically wide—just enough. Just the right amount of fear for a mother confiding in her son about something frightening.“I haven’t been sleeping,” she said softly. “I keep the curtains drawn after dark now. Every sound—the gate, th

Estelle’s POVI could see the man past Harrison’s left shoulder.Harrison filled most of the doorway, but the gap between his arm and the frame was wide enough to give me a clear line of sight down the hall.The man stood six feet from Harrison, maybe seven. His hands were at his sides, palms slightly open, fingers relaxed.He hadn’t moved since he’d spoken.Behind me and to my right, Claire was pressed against the kitchen counter. I didn’t need to turn fully to see her—she was in my peripheral vision, and I could hear her breathing, fast and shallow, each inhale catching.Three people. All visible from where I sat at the oak table with my hands still folded on its edge.Harrison spoke first.“You need to leave,” he said firmly. “Right now.”The man didn’t argue. He raised both palms, the way someone does when they want every person in the room to see they’re not holding anything. The universal gesture.I’m not a threat. I’m not here to cause trouble.“I understand,” the man said calm

Estelle’s POVTears were running down Claire’s face now.She wasn’t sobbing, just leaking, as if the pressure behind her eyes had found a crack and was seeping through whether she wanted it to or not.Harrison had his back to me. He was standing three feet from Claire, and I could see the ridge of his spine through his shirt, every vertebra visible because his shoulders were pulled so far back.He was breathing through his nose in short and hard pulls.“Mother,” he said hoarsely. “I need you to tell me who that man is.”“He’s nobody,” Claire whispered.“He’s not nobody. He walked into your house and said my father’s name.”“He’s disturbed, Harrison. He has delusions about—about connections that don’t exist, about relationships that were never—”“He said I look like David.”“Because he’s obsessed!” Claire’s voice rose sharply, cracking on the last syllable. “Because he has been fixated on this family for decades, because he—”She pressed both shaking hands flat against the counter and