Todos os capítulos de Ex-Husband Forgot Ever Divorcing Me: Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

CHELSEAIt happened a few days ago.I was still trying to figure out Monique’s current state with Maxwell by myself, alone in my apartment, when the phone rang.Denver’s number.For a second I just stared at it. The same number I had been leaving on read. The same name that still made my mouth tighten. I almost let it die. I almost decided that whatever Denver Sawyer wanted after midnight was not my problem.I answered anyway.It was not his voice.A stranger spoke first—tired, professional, a little annoyed. He said he was calling from the man’s phone. He was a bartender. They were about to close the bar. The man was too drunk to drive himself.My face crumpled.Then Denver got on the line.Drunken. Slurred.“My Chels is here?”The bartender came back before I could hang up. He told me to come and get him. Denver was causing trouble with the staff. The call ended on that, as if the matter had already been handed to me.I stood in my apartment, phone still against my ear after the lin

CHELSEAHe didn’t wait. He slung one of my legs over his shoulder and held me open with both hands on my ass, fingers digging in. His tongue fucked into me, then flicked, then sucked, sloppy and relentless. I could hear how wet I was. I could feel drool and want on my thighs. My hips rolled against his face without permission.“That’s it,” he growled against me. “Ride my mouth. Use me.”I hated him.I grabbed his hair tighter and did it anyway.The first orgasm hit fast and ugly, a sharp clench that made my standing leg shake. I came on his tongue with a broken cry, pulsing against his mouth while he kept licking like he wanted a second one immediately. My vision spotted. My fingers hurt from how hard I was holding him.He stood up while I was still shaking and kissed me, making me taste myself. Then he turned me, bent me over the counter, and yanked my underwear down to my knees.I heard his belt.The sound alone made my stomach drop.“Denver, if you pass out in the middle of this I

MONIQUEEver since Elise’s visit, I had not been myself.The office still looked the same. The fox painting. The plant Janine had saved. The nameplate I had put back with my own hands. None of it stopped my mind from running the appointment on a loop—Elise carrying Ambrose like she owned the hallway, the almost-slap, the whisper in my ear, the boy’s silence on her lap.I talked to myself more than I wanted to admit.Not out loud at work, where Ellie or Janine might hear. In the car. In the shower. Over the stove. I created scenarios inside my head of what would happen the next time I met her. Would she bring him again with that sarcastic smile? Would she raise her voice until he flinched? Would she try to finish the slap she had only opened her palm for? Would Ambrose repeat something he had been taught, something shaped like a wound and aimed at me?I wanted to transfer Ambrose to Ellie.The thought was clean. Professional. A conflict of interest so obvious it should not have require

TREVORI got the results from the laboratory and did not open them in the hallway.Some envelopes did not belong in public air. This was one of them. I took it into my office, locked the door, and sat down with the kind of stillness I usually reserved for bad scans and worse phone calls. Maxwell’s name was on the request. Ambrose’s too. A child. A swab. A question my best friend had asked as if proof could make the rest of the mess sit down and behave.I checked the result thoroughly.Twice.Then a third time, because hoping had already started to argue with the page.The markers lined up. The probability sat where it always sat when the answer was not the one I wanted. I frowned at the paper until the numbers stopped looking like they might rearrange themselves out of mercy.I sighed deeply.Then I sealed it again.I had hoped Ambrose was not really Maxwell’s child.Not because I wanted the boy erased. Because I wanted the story Elise had built to crack. I wanted Maxwell’s name off a

MONIQUEWhen Maxwell left, I assumed it was for work again.He had that look he wore when a schedule changed—composed, already halfway out the door, the kiss from the kitchen still warm on my neck and already belonging to a different hour. I did not ask why the morning had turned sharp under his politeness. I told myself I did not have the right to every departure. We were not a married couple sitting down to plan a day. We were two people sharing a house, a bed when I failed to lock it, and a child he still did not know I was carrying.I readied myself for work anyway.My chest felt heavier than usual.Today was Ambrose’s session.That meant Elise again.The drive with Ross was quiet. I let him talk about traffic and then stop talking when I did not answer. At St. Claire I put on the version of myself that belonged to the office—the voice, the posture, the pen. Janine glanced at me once and did not ask. Ellie was already with another patient. I was grateful. If I transferred Ambrose