Todos os capítulos de Ex-Husband Forgot Ever Divorcing Me: Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 120

MONIQUEMorning did not make the hour smaller.Maxwell was already in the kitchen when I came down. Coffee. No speech. The look of a man who had slept beside a fact instead of a person.“I’m going to Ambrose after work,” he said. “I’m not taking last night there.”“Good.”“I meant what I texted. Ross calls me if anyone blocks that lane again.”“Ross works the car. He doesn’t own my decisions.” I poured tea I might not drink. “If Grant comes to the clinic, I will handle the lobby. You handling the lot turns it into a Lohr scene on a children’s sidewalk.”Maxwell’s mouth tightened.“He put you in a car.”“And I got out at this gate. That has to be enough for one morning.”It was not enough. It was what we had before the day split us into offices.Ross drove. I texted Reyes from the back seat.[There is an addition to the timeline. Grant Enrile came to my clinic. After work he drove me to the Enrile house. I met my biological father. I did not stay. I did not sign. Maxwell knows. Derrick

LAURELMaxwell sent one line and thought it was a fence.[Do not put another family’s name in Ambrose’s mouth. Last night is not his story.]I read it twice in bed, pearls already on the nightstand, Derrick still in the study with a glass he did not need. A son who would not open his house had begun giving his mother instructions about speech. That was Monique. That was the clinic transfer. That was an Enrile car at a gate he still called hers.I went downstairs.Derrick did not look surprised.“He told you not to talk,” I said.“He told me the visit was useful. Now he tells you it is not a story.” Derrick turned the glass. “That is a man being pulled in two houses.”“Grant Enrile put her in a car. She sat with their father. Then she came back to sleep under our son’s roof and lock a door like a guest.” My voice stayed even. Ambrose was upstairs in this house tonight; I would not carry heat up the stairs. “A court does not need the boy to say the name. The boy only needs to keep sleep

MAXWELLI opened the gate because she had come alone.No Elise. No Ambrose. No bag on a shoulder. Laurel stood on the stone in the morning light as if a grandmother’s empty hands were proof of reason. Behind me the house held Monique and a letter that had already translated an Enrile car into third-party family contact.“I’m not coming in,” Laurel said first, which meant she wanted credit for the restraint. “I won’t drag a scene into her foyer. I came to see if you had read.”“I read it.”“Good. Then we can stop pretending visits are a life.” Her eyes moved past my shoulder, looking for Monique, finding only me. “Structured time. Overnights. A quiet bed. That is all. You can keep your locked rooms and your pride. The boy cannot keep living on your calendar’s leftovers.”“He has a bed. I put him in it last night. I will put him in it again. That is not leftovers.”“It is leftovers if the house you sleep in cannot receive him.” Laurel’s voice stayed level for the driveway. “You sent me

MONIQUEThe kiss deepened before I could decide what it was allowed to become.I resisted first. My hands were on his jaw to hold him still, not to pull him in. He tasted like whiskey and night air and the kind of need that did not ask permission with words. I turned my face a fraction. His mouth followed. I made a sound that should have been *stop* and came out as his name.Then I allowed it.A second later I was kissing him like I had been thirsty for days and had only just admitted it. My fingers slid into his hair. His body pinned me to the foyer wall, not cruel, just heavy, a man using my worry as a place to land. I hated that it worked. I hated that my mouth opened for him anyway.He made a low noise into the kiss and I felt it in my throat.“Maxwell—wait—”He kissed the words off my lips and then, sloppy and earnest, found them again.“I’m here,” he muttered. “I’m home.”My belly already had a bulge.Not a thing a drunk man would miss forever if his hands kept roaming. Not a th

MAXWELLMine.The word was too small for the room.I held her and felt the shape under my hand that whiskey had tried to call softness. Eleven weeks. Chelsea knew. Reyes knew. Grant, she thought, suspected. I had put my mouth on her last night and still been the last man in the house to hear it spoken.Anger arrived late and tangled with everything else.“You let me drink and crawl to you and not know.”“You were already crawling.” Monique’s voice was steady only on the surface. “I tried to stop it from becoming sex. I told you not all the way. You heard that much.”“I heard a limit. I didn’t hear a child.”She flinched. I hated that I had made her.I did not take the hand off her belly.“Why Reyes before me.”“Because your father put my name on a letter as a problem in a household. Because Chelsea said a lawyer had to know before Laurel smelled it. Because if it landed in a filing first, they would call it a tactic.” Her eyes were wet and furious with herself. “I was going to tell yo