บททั้งหมดของ He Claimed Her Baby. I Ended Our Marriage.: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

The party was easier than I expected.I took pictures in the garden, listened to Mara complain about a venue’s lighting, and danced a little with Dad.His steps were stiff.His concentration made me smile.When the cake arrived, Mom told me to make a wish.I closed my eyes.In other years, I had wished for Luca’s safety, peace in the family, fewer emergencies, a baby.This time, I wanted to sleep without fear.I blew out the candles.When I opened my eyes, Mom was smiling with tears in hers.Near the end of the evening, I went to the study to open presents.I had loved that part since childhood.A book someone remembered me mentioning could mean as much as a piece of jewelry. The pleasure was in finding what another person had chosen with me in mind.Claire had found a set of art books I’d wanted for years.Mara’s envelope contained a formal proposal for the exhibition.Under her signature, she had written, Don’t disappear for another five years.I laughed and set it where I could read

Matteo didn’t send the necklace back immediately.He asked whether I would be willing to record what I had just told him.“Not meet him,” he said quickly. “But he keeps acting as though we’re the ones refusing for you.”I considered that.It sounded like Luca.If I still loved him, then something had to be keeping us apart.First Sofia’s situation.Then family pressure.Now my brother.Never my own decision.“All right.”Matteo set his phone on the table and asked my permission before starting.He didn’t suggest words.He asked one question.“Do you want to try again with him?”I looked at the tabletop.“No.”The word came without the struggle I had expected.I went on.“I loved him. I resented him. For a while, I hated him. None of that means I want to spend the rest of my life reacting to him.”Outside, the last guests were saying goodbye.I waited for a burst of laughter to fade.“I’m not refusing because my family won’t let me see him. I’m not waiting for him to do something bigger

I woke early on the morning reservations opened.Mara told me not to watch the website.The system would keep count. Her team was ready.I sat in front of my laptop anyway, checking that no painting titles had been misspelled.Mom brought breakfast.“If you’re nervous, eat.”I looked up.“Did you all agree this would be the family’s only advice?”She pushed the plate closer.“It’s good advice.”When reservations opened, I held one finger above the refresh key.The first session filled.Then the second.For a moment, I assumed something had gone wrong.I checked twice and called Mara.She answered over the sound of keyboards.“It isn’t an error,” she said before I could ask. “People were waiting.”I couldn’t speak.Five years had grown so large in my mind.I imagined everyone who had once cared about my work moving on, finding more interesting artists who hadn’t disappeared into a marriage.Then the emails began arriving.A visitor remembered a rainy street scene from my graduation exhi

Luca stayed through the afternoon.I didn’t have to keep watching him to know he was present.It was the recognition that comes from knowing someone too long: an old familiarity my body noticed before my mind decided whether it mattered.I kept working.A young visiting curator asked about my materials.His name was Elias. He was developing a group exhibition for a small museum and had noticed the same gray appearing in several paintings.“Was that deliberate?”“Not at first,” I said. “Later, I realized it made the warmer colors feel more like everyday light.”He took out a notebook.I showed him a thin layer of underpainting near the edge of the next work.We talked about light, canvas, and artists he was researching.It was the kind of conversation I had missed without knowing how much.Occasionally, I saw Luca standing beyond us.His gaze rested on Elias.Once, that expression would have made me explain who the man was, shift my stance, or finish the conversation early.I had become

The smell of disinfectant reached me first.My hand closed on the sheet before I opened my eyes.Then Mom spoke.“Elena. I’m here.”I turned toward her.She sat beside the bed, holding my hand.My throat was painfully dry.Dad raised the head of the bed and brought a cup to my mouth.After a few sips, I remembered the gallery lights.The car.The child.“Is the little girl all right?”“She’s fine,” Mom said immediately. “So is her mother.”I closed my eyes.Something in my chest loosened.A doctor came in and asked whether I felt dizzy, whether I remembered my name, whether I knew what had happened.After examining me, he explained that my shoulder and arm were bruised and that I needed observation following the blow to my head.I listened.Then I asked, “The person who pushed me—where are they?”The room became still.Dad answered first.“Being treated.”“How badly?”“No life-threatening injuries.”I nodded.But their answers were too quick, too carefully aligned.Matteo stood by the