All Chapters of My Prodigal Ex-Husband Wants Me Back: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

“Strip!” I blinked up from the page, the word hanging in the air as he stood just inside the doorway, one hand still on the knob. “What?” “I said strip,” he repeated, slower this time, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality that made my stomach flip. Elias was clearly drunk. But the statement still took me by surprise because the last time he’d made any kind of advance toward me was eight months ago. This was certainly out of the ordinary. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, swaying just slightly in the doorway, and let it drop onto the armchair by the window, the top two buttons of his shirt already undone. The city lights outside painted faint orange stripes across the ceiling, but they didn’t reach the bed. Here, it was just me, the lamp, and the sudden, electric weight of his stare. “Elias,” I managed, my voice steadier than I felt as the book stayed open on my thighs. “You’re drunk.” He took one step closer. Then another. The floorboards creaked

Nothing prepares you for it. Not the therapy books stacked on your nightstand, not the whispered warnings from your married friends over too many glasses of cheap wine, not even the goddamn movies where the betrayed wife always looks flawless while she hurls a vase at the cheater’s head. I swear to every fucked-up god listening, nothing in this world arms you for the moment you catch your husband balls-deep in your own twin sister. Nothing in the fucking world. No matter how many times the nightmare version of it had played on repeat in my head during those sleepless nights when Elias came home smelling like “late meetings.” Nothing prepared me for this. I stood frozen in the doorway of our bedroom, the paper bag of anniversary cookies still warm against my hip. The stupid red ribbon cutting into my palm as the air hung heavy with his sweat and the favorite cologne he only wore when he wanted to impress someone. This time, that someone just happened to be my sister. Get

The door creaked open wider, and I slipped past her into the familiar hallway that still smelled like lemon polish and whatever pie she had baking in the oven. Mom closed the door behind us with a quiet click, crossed her arms, and leaned against the wall like she was bracing for whatever mess I had dragged in. “This is why I told you to give birth to an heir,” she said in a flat matter-of-fact way. My tears stopped for a second, just long enough for the words to sink in like a slap I hadn’t seen coming. I knew Clara had always been their favorite—the golden twin, the bold one, the one who could do no wrong even when she left a man at the altar—but I couldn’t believe my own mother was… I stared at her, mouth dry, heart hammering against my ribs. “Are you actually putting the blame on me?” The question scraped out, small and stunned. She didn’t even blink. “If you had given birth, you would have known your standing in the marriage. An heir cements a wife’s place. It gives h

I sat in Mr. Hargrove’s office until the papers were started, signed what I needed to sign, and left with a folder tucked under my arm like it weighed nothing and everything at once. The drive home passed in the same numb blur as the drive there. By the time I pulled into the driveway the sun had dipped low, painting the front of the house in soft oranges and pinks that felt almost cruelly pretty after the day I’d had. Elias took his time coming home that night. I didn’t pace or check the clock every five minutes like I usually would. Instead I kicked off my shoes in the entryway, left the folder on the kitchen counter where he couldn’t miss it, and dropped onto the living room floor with Peanuts. The golden retriever had been waiting by the door when I walked in, tail thumping like I was the best thing he’d seen all day. I buried my fingers in his thick fur, scratching behind his ears the way he liked, and let him flop half into my lap with a happy groan. When was the last time

❁✿❀ I ate slowly the next morning, savoring each bite, letting the morning stretch out around me. The eggs were still warm on my tongue, fluffy with just the right touch of salt, and for once I didn’t have to glance at the clock or listen for footsteps on the stairs. I actually tasted them. Peanuts eventually wandered off to his favorite spot by the back door, flopping down in a patch of sun with a contented sigh that made the corners of my mouth lift without me meaning them to. I watched him settle, tail giving one lazy thump against the tile, and felt something loosen. It was nice not rushing to prepare a feast for breakfast like I usually did. That’s something I definitely wouldn’t miss once all of this is behind me. Even back at my parents’ house growing up, I had never been subjected to that kind of constant domestic grind. We had people for that—housekeepers who kept the big place running so Clara and I could focus on whatever drama or school project she decided m