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Home / Romance / After the Divorce, My Ex Husband Came Crawling Back / Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

All Chapters of After the Divorce, My Ex Husband Came Crawling Back: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

137 Chapters

121

DURRELLI suddenly realize I have absolutely no idea what to say. My throat suddenly feels dry. I blurt out the only thing that’s on my mind. "Helena Wright?"There’s silence, a brief pause, then: "Who is calling?"I tighten my grip on the phone. "Durrell Cox."Nothing, no response, and for a moment, I wonder if the call dropped.Then… "Durrell?" The voice sounds different now. It’s softer and sounds almost shocked."Yes."There’s another silence, a longer one this time.Then: "Helena's boy?"My pulse spikes. Every instinct tells me to be careful, to ask questions, to verify everything, instead I hear myself say: "Yes."A slow exhale reaches me through the speaker. Relief. The kind that comes after waiting too long. Far too long."I've been waiting a very long time for this call."I sit forward. "Who are you?"The woman is quiet for a moment, then: "My name is Beatrice Wright."The name means nothing to me. Not yet.Before I can ask another question, she speaks again. "When are you co

122

ARIANAThe suitcase sits open on the bed.I stare at it for a long time. It's ridiculous, really. It's just a suitcase. People travel every day. People leave every day.But somehow this one feels different.Maybe because this isn't a business trip. This isn't a meeting. This isn't Durrell flying somewhere for forty-eight hours before coming home. This is something else. This is him chasing answers.And answers have a way of changing people.I fold another shirt and place it inside.Durrell glances up from where he's reviewing documents at the desk. "That's the fifth shirt.""It's a two-week trip.""I already packed six."I pick up another one. "Now you have seven.""Ariana.""You never know."His mouth twitches. I refuse to acknowledge that he's making fun of me. Instead, I walk toward the dresser and begin opening drawers. A few moments later, I return with extra socks.Durrell sighs.I continue packing.Five minutes later, I add medicine. Then chargers. Then another power bank. Then

123

ARIANAThe alarm goes off at four-thirty in the morning, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The room is dark and quiet. The suitcase waits beside the door.Durrell reaches over and silences the alarm. Neither of us speaks, because once one of us does, the day officially begins. And neither of us seems eager for that.Eventually, Durrell sits up. I watch him rub a hand over his face. Then he stands. The simple act somehow makes everything feel real.He's leaving, not tomorrow, not later, it’s today.By five-thirty, the house is awake.Mrs. Patricia insists on making breakfast. The table is covered with eggs, toast, fresh fruit, and pastries she somehow found time to bake before sunrise.Durrell barely touches his food. I don't either. We both push things around our plates, pretending to eat.Mrs. Patricia watches us for a moment. Then she sets down her coffee cup with a deliberate clink."Breakfast is the first meal of the day," she says, her voice carrying that particular tone she

124

DURRELLThe first thing I notice is the air.It smells different, of salt and rain, and something earthy I can't quite place. By the time I step out of the airport, I already feel out of place.The language on the signs isn't English, and most people speak it fluently. I catch a few English words here and there, but not enough to follow entire conversations.And for the first time in a very long time, I feel like a stranger. The realization is unsettling, and strangely exciting.I pull my suitcase behind me and head toward the taxi stand. The driver is an older man with silver hair and weathered hands. He glances at the address written on my phone, then looks at me. "You're going to Veldhaven?"I nod. "Is that far?""About an hour." He throws my suitcase into the trunk. "Family there?"The question catches me off guard. Family, maybe, and hopefully. I slide into the back seat. "I'm not sure."The driver chuckles. "Those are usually the interesting trips."Pulling away from the airpo

125

### 125: HelenaDURRELL‘Grandma.’The word nearly slips out. I stop myself. I feel it’s too soon with so many unanswered questions.Still... the feeling lingers.Beatrice eventually steps back. "Oh dear." She wipes her face again. "I've made a terrible first impression.""I've had worse." I say, trying to ease her discomfort.That earns another laugh. "Come inside before the neighbors start gossiping.""They gossip?" I tease her."My boy, this town survived two hundred years entirely on gossip."For the first time since landing in Donderdam, some of the tension leaves my shoulders.***The house smells like cinnamon, coffee, and something baking in the kitchen. The furniture is old but well cared for. The walls are covered in photographs.I stop walking, and my chest tightens.Helena. She's everywhere. A little girl holding a bicycle, a teenager standing beside the ocean, a graduation picture, and a family portrait. Dozens of moments frozen in time, of a whole life, a whole person.

126

ARIANAThe second morning after Durrell left for Donderdam is worse.It’s worse not because I'm sad or lonely, it’s worse because I've gotten used to reaching for him. Instinctively, my hand slides across the mattress before I'm fully awake. But nowadays my hands end up touching empty, cold sheets.Today, I open my eyes, and the other side of the bed is untouched. For a few seconds, I stare at it. Then I sigh and reach for my phone.7:14 a.m.I immediately do the math, Donderdam is six hours ahead, so Durrell should already be awake.But there aren't any new messages. The last one came before I fell asleep.Durrell: ‘Miss you.’Three simple words. Three words that somehow made it harder to sleep afterward.I smile to myself despite the sad feeling inside me, then force myself out of bed.As usual, there are two toddlers waiting to destroy any chance of self-pity.Sitting on the edge of the bed, I can hear that the twins are already awake. Leaving the room, I hear them before I reach

127

ARIANAI don't stop reading, as my eyes trail the words of each line.‘Petition for custody modification. Expanded parenting time. Overnight visitation. Review of existing arrangements.’My pulse begins to pound. No… No, no, no. This isn't happening. I keep reading, and then I find the paragraph that makes my stomach turn.‘The filing argues that Maxwell entered the divorce proceedings without knowledge that I was pregnant. That he was deprived of the opportunity to prepare for fatherhood. That material information affecting future parental rights was unavailable at the time of dissolution.’My vision blurs for a second, not because the words are complicated, but because I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s not attacking me emotionally, he’s attacking me legally. He’s using facts, technicalities, and the truth.And the worst part? Part of it is true.I didn't tell him about the pregnancy. My father was dying, and Maxwell was already in bed with my sister. But reasons don't matter in

128

ARIANAAlaric Sterling rises to greet me. "Hello, Ariana." "Alaric." I greet him and notice a thick folder waiting on the conference table. He gestures toward the chair opposite him. "Please." I sit, and he opens the file. "I've reviewed the petition, and it's not as bad as it first appears." He assures me. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "But," he continues, "it's considerably more complicated." He says as he slides several documents toward me. "The first thing you need to understand is what Maxwell is not asking for." I scan the heading: ‘Petition for Modification of Parenting Arrangement.’ "He's not seeking sole custody." He explains. "I noticed." My eyes scan through the document slowly. "He isn't even seeking primary custody." He continues. I look up. "So what is he doing?" Alaric folds his hands together. "He's asking the court to expand his parenting rights." He taps the first page. "More parenting time." He flips to another page. "Regular overn

129

DURRELLThe photograph of Victor and Helena, standing close enough to know each other, doesn't leave my mind. Beatrice confirmed it without realizing she'd confirmed it. Victor knew my mother better than he ever admitted.Beatrice sets another cup of tea in front of me, and neither of us speaks for a while.Finally I ask the question that's been sitting inside my chest since yesterday. "What happened to her?"Beatrice doesn't answer immediately. She folds her hands together. "I can tell you how it began."I wait."But I can't tell you how it ended."My eyebrows draw together. "Why?""Because that isn't my story to tell." She looks toward Helena's old bedroom. "I only know pieces after she left Donderdam."I nod. "I'll take the pieces."She smiles sadly. "That sounds like your father."I exhale, and lean back in my chair.She inhales slowly. "It started with the Kravens..."She barely gets another word out before three firm knocks echo through the house.Beatrice sighs. "Oh dear." She

130

DURRELLThe first thing I notice when Beatrice returns is her voice. She's laughing at something Toiri said, speaking Donderdam in that easy way people do when they've known each other forever.Through the sitting room window, I see her hurrying up the stone path, then she freezes.She notices the two men standing outside the cottage. Her shopping bag slips from her fingers, and oranges roll across the path."No..." The word comes out hollow.She rushes toward the front door, not bothering to stop for the scattered fruit. I open it before she reaches it. Her eyes find me immediately, and relief flashes across her face.Then she looks past me, and the relief disappears."Oh..." She steps inside slowly.The third bodyguard is still standing beside the front door, where he's remained for the last twenty minutes.The strange man hasn't moved either. He's still seated calmly at the little wooden dining table, one leg crossed over the other, like he's been invited for afternoon tea.He smil

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