All Chapters of He Wants Me More After Divorce: Chapter 331 - Chapter 340

Estelle’s POVI hadn’t been inside Claire’s house in six months, and I would not have agreed to go at all except that the cover was mine.Lucas was out of the car before the engine was fully off, already running up the path in his coat unzipped. Chloe followed with a book under her arm and the small overnight duffel she’d packed herself.Claire opened the front door in a cream cardigan and took the duffel from Chloe and said, there you are, darling, and Chloe handed her the book wordlessly, which was Chloe’s version of a hug.“Thanks for having them,” I said.“Of course.”“We’ll be back before ten.”“Take your time.”She did not quite look at me. I did not quite smile. We had been doing this for six months.Harrison said, “I’m going to grab that thing from the spare room.”Claire didn’t question it. She took Lucas and Chloe into the living room, where there was a plate of cut apple waiting on the coffee table. I stayed in the front hall and listened.Footsteps upstairs. A drawer openi

Estelle’s POVThe waiting room had a saltwater tank against the far wall and Lucas went for it like a man who had found his people.Within thirty seconds he was pressed against the glass narrating the behavior of a yellow tang to a three-year-old who had not asked.Chloe took a chair by the window with her book and made it clear she would rather stay there than come with us.“Bring me back if he cries,” she said without looking up.“He’s not going to cry,” I said.“Just in case.”Dr. Frantzve’s exam room was at the end of a hallway with original hardwood that creaked at the threshold. She had a small wooden giraffe pinned above her name badge.Lucas noticed it before she had finished saying hello.“Why a giraffe?” he asked, climbing onto the exam table in his socks.“My daughter gave it to me.”“Does she like giraffes?”“She likes me.”“That’s a good reason.”Harrison took up his usual position against the wall with his arms folded. I sat on the small chair by the desk.Dr. Frantzve w

Estelle’s POVThe farmers’ market was down by the pier, and the wind off the water had an edge that cut through my coat wherever it wasn’t zipped.I had gone alone on purpose.Harrison had taken Chloe to her swim class and Lucas had tagged along for pancakes after, and I had told them I wanted an hour to myself.The stalls ran in two rows between the chain-link and the parking lot. A woman in a denim apron was stacking heirloom tomatoes into a crate, calling prices to anyone who slowed down.The bread line was six deep. A man with a guitar sat on an overturned milk crate playing something that might have been a Paul Simon song, badly and cheerfully, his case open at his feet.I was at the flower stall with my canvas bag over one shoulder and a coffee I had not really been drinking, touching the papery heads of ranunculus I did not need, when someone behind me said my name.I turned.Karl was in a navy peacoat, his scarf wrapped in the specific way his mother used to do it for him, wit

Harrison’s POVThe diner was off the frontage road where nothing else was open, and the coffee had been on the burner since seven.I ordered a cup and didn’t drink it. The vinyl of the booth was split along the top and someone had pressed duct tape over the tear.A manila envelope sat on the bench beside me.Bernadette was late. I waited eighteen minutes. I almost left twice.At nineteen past, the bell above the door went and she came in in the blue coat, sliding into the booth across from me without apology.“I need more,” she said.I didn’t answer.“I know what I signed. My mother is sick. She’s in a care home. The care home is fifteen thousand a month, Mr. Emerson, and I cannot pay it for long. I need one more. Just one. Twenty-five thousand and you will not hear from me again.”The waitress came over and refilled my cup without asking and left without looking at either of us.“You signed a non-disclosure.”“I know.”“I can make the NDA hurt you.”“I know.”“Then why come back?”“B

Harrison’s POVThe courthouse steps were wet from an overnight rain that nobody had bothered to sweep.I went up them behind a woman unloading a handbag of receipts into the plastic tray at the metal detector, and when my turn came I dumped in keys, wallet, phone, and a folded handkerchief I had no memory of packing.The guard waved me through without looking at my face.Hearing Room 2B was on the second floor at the end of a hallway that smelled of old paper. Wood benches. A clerk’s desk. A woman in a navy pantsuit working on a laptop in the front row, glasses halfway down her nose.Greenwood was already at the defense table in a gray suit, white hair combed flat, a folder open in front of him.I took a bench three rows back and sat down.Two defendants went before Thomas. I caught maybe half of what was said. ‘The judge was a man named Vasquez who looked like he hadn’t slept since November.When the side door opened and they brought Thomas in, I pressed my palm flat against my thigh