Romans & histoires My Ex Husband

The kind of pain that lived in the bones. Sandra. The woman he’d called not wife material. The woman he’d replaced three years ago because her family didn’t have the right last name. The woman who’d cried quietly when he told her it was over, then packed one bag and walked out without begging. He’d thought that was the end of her story. I need to visit Grant Group now, he muttered. The words felt like a confession. He grabbed his car keys off the desk. The metal bit into his palm. He didn’t feel it.

I said, and aborted the call. It was clearly a few minutes past seven, and the fine guy I met today would be waiting in vain to have me sit on the same table with him. How do I explain to him that my son is sick, and my damn ex is coming over. Did I call him ex? Yeah, he is ex in my heart because I wanted him no more, but he still doesn’t want to sign the divorce papers, which meant he was truly still occupying the place of my legal husband. …………………………………………..

Regrettably, I hadn't even appreciated it. And now, she's found solace in the arms of another man. The thought of their impending marriage keeps haunting my mind relentlessly. The divorce papers have been signed, leaving me with no rights or claims. I am now her ex-husband, a title that holds no joy for me. "I can't express how much I love you, Samantha," I whispered, my voice filled with emotion. "I yearn for your return, I ache for your presence," I sobbed, my tears flowing freely.

Now, it felt like nothing more than a corpse of the past. “You heard it yourself, Levia. My husband no longer cares about his wife. He chose to lock me up with rats just to please his mistress,” I said, my voice hollow, like a ghost’s whisper. I turned to her, my eyes now reddened with the anger rising from the depths of my devastation. “He called me something to be discarded… after five years of me giving my entire life to him.” “Madam, you must stay strong. Don’t let them hurt you,” Levia said firmly.

"It has been three years already. I was just thinking what if she might—" "I don't want to talk about her," Retreating, the lawyer drew a deep breath. Tan grabbed his car keys, obviously trying to dismiss the topic fully. All he wanted to do is to get back home to finally get some rest and most likely call it a day. "Aren't you going to see her?" He looked back at him. "For what? I don't see any reason why I should," "But she's your wife," he answered. "Ex-wife," he corrected him.

Moreover, the idea of taking care of an ex reminded him of something. He furrowed his brows and said in a cold tone, "You think my money just fell into my lap? It didn't come because I spent it on unrelated people." Charlotte opened her mouth, unsure of how to respond. Griffith glanced at her and continued, "A good ex should pretend they never existed." "But..." "Exes should act like they're dead, especially certain people." Charlotte was baffled. She had just made a joke, but he was taking it seriously.

Why can’t my life be drama free like everyone else's? Do I have to constantly deal with psychopath of an ex husband who even after many years of been divorced couldn’t swallow the hard pill that we will never come back together again or the friend of another ex husband who thought he can magically fix things between us that he have no idea how messed up and broken things are between us. James and I have reached the point of no repair and the earlier Marcus let that sink in, the better for the both of us. In an attempt to get things off my mind and lift the heavy weight that seems to be weighing down my heart, I increased the volume of my Tv which had been on mute the whole time.

“Ethan, can you believe that woman left the house before anybody woke up and her maid won’t tell us where she is?" “I’m a chef, not a maid." Irene continued making her soup. She needed to make sure Autumn had warm meals when she came back from the hospital, but she could not let this opportunity to teach these vile people a little lesson come first. Ethan’s gaze hardened as he stared at Irene. “Where is my wife?” Irene scoffed. So, now he remembers that she was his wife? “Like I told your mother, I’m a chef, not her babysitter."

Her eyes sparkled with love and life and possibility—everything I had slowly killed during our marriage. My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Enjoying the headlines? - A.H." Alexander Hayes. My half-brother. The man who now owned everything I had thrown away. I typed back: "We need to talk." The response came immediately: "I don't think we do. But Claire might be interested to know her ex-husband has been asking questions. Sweet dreams, brother." I stared at the phone until the screen went dark, then hurled it against the wall.

"I’ve used it before with my ex-wife." Her eyes snapped to me. "Ex-wife? You were married?" "EX-wife," I emphasized, making sure to stress the "ex." "We divorced more than 15 years ago. Don’t worry—you’re not my mistress," I said, glancing at her. "Not that I’d have any say if I were," she replied, her tone sharp. "You bought me, so what right would I have to refuse this arrangement?" "Hmn," I hummed, shrugging. "Fair point, but I’m not married to anyone now. I’m single—no one’s going to cause you trouble."