All Chapters of He Wants Me More After Divorce: Chapter 251 - Chapter 260

Lyndsey’s POVI lowered myself into the armchair across from Mom’s desk, gripping both armrests on the way down because my body wouldn’t cooperate with anything faster than a controlled drop.My lower back seized halfway through and I had to stop, hanging there with my arms locked, before gravity finished the job and I landed hard enough to push a grunt out of me.Mom sat behind the desk.She hadn’t moved since I’d walked in—she’d simply watched me struggle into the chair.Her legs were crossed. Her hands rested one on top of the other on the leather surface of the desk blotter. Her phone lay face-down beside her right elbow, exactly where she’d placed it after ending the call.The curtains were heavy green velvet, pulled halfway. A framed photograph of my father sat on the shelf behind Mom’s head. He looked younger, laughing, holding a horse’s bridle in one hand.“The snake,” Mom began calmly, “was delivered by a man I’ve used before. He’s discreet and he’s expensive and he doesn’t a

Lyndsey’s POVMy fingers locked on the armrests. I looked down at my hands and they were rigid and white, the tendons standing out along my wrists. I tried to release my grip but my fingers wouldn’t obey.I blinked fast, four or five times. My lungs sucked in a small tight gasp.Mom watched me from behind the desk. She hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t stood up. She’d barely moved. She’d just said those words.I should have left then. I should have hauled myself out of that chair and walked out, because staying meant giving her the chance to say something worse, and Mom always had something worse.“And besides,” she added coolly, “let’s not pretend this is really about Karl’s parents.”I looked up sharply.“You don’t care about Karl’s parents, Lyndsey. You’ve never met them. You didn’t know they existed until an hour ago.”“I don’t see how that’s relevant. This is just basic human decency!”She didn’t respond, just tilted her head slightly, the way she did when she was examining som

Lyndsey’s POVThe rigid wall under my palms softened. The pain retreated from my ribs back down to my pelvis, fading from sharp to dull to a low ache.I sagged against the headboard. Sweat beaded on my upper lip and I wiped it with the back of my hand.My fingers were shaking.I held them up in front of my face and watched them jitter, a visible vibration that ran from my fingertips to the first knuckle.When I tried to flatten my hands against the bedspread, they wouldn’t stay still.They twitched and jumped against the fabric as if something electrical was running through them.I pressed them against my thighs instead, trapping them, holding them there until the shaking dulled enough that I could think.I looked at the clock on the bedside table. 3:47 PM.The baby moved. A slow, heavy roll, the whole mass of weight shifting from one side to the other, repositioning.I felt the pressure change under my ribs as the baby settled into a new angle.I exhaled hard. My breath came out shak

Karl’s POVI parked beside the water tank my father had been meaning to replace since I was in secondary school.The red brick of the farmhouse was now dark, the green front door scuffed at the base where thirty years of boots had kicked it open.A pair of wellies stood on the step, toes angled outward, caked with dried mud that had cracked in the sun.My father was already outside.He must have heard the car because he came around the side of the house before I’d pulled the keys from the ignition, wiping his hands on a rag that looked older than I was. He wore the same waxed jacket he’d owned for a decade, the collar permanently turned up on one side.His hair had gone almost entirely white since my last visit, and he moved with a slight hitch in his left knee that hadn’t been there when we last saw each other.He didn’t hug me. He put a hand on my shoulder, squeezed once, and jerked his chin toward the back garden.“Come on,” he said gruffly. “I’ll show you.”I followed him around t

Karl’s POVWhen the plates were cleared—my mother had them in the sink before I’d set down my fork—my father went to the back door and checked the lock.He twisted the bolt, tested it, then walked to the side window and did the same thing.Then the front door.“That’s the third time tonight,” I said quietly.My father looked at me from the hallway. He didn’t deny it.“Tell me about the woman again,” I said.He came back to the table and sat down heavily.My mother stopped washing dishes and stood at the sink, her back to us, listening.“Thursday,” he said. “About half two. Your mother answered the door. I was in here.” He jerked his thumb at the kitchen window. “I could see the front step from where I was sitting.”“What did she look like?”“Young. Late twenties, maybe thirty. Dark hair, pulled back. She had a clipboard and one of those lanyards—you know, the ones with the plastic badge.”“What was on the badge?”“Some charity name. Your mother didn’t catch it because she wasn’t weari