The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 323

I Won’t Beg Anymore (2) 

MARY’S POV: 

“You’re taking his car,” I said. It wasn’t a question. 

“He said I could.” She slipped the keys into the pocket of her robe and glanced back at me over her shoulder. “I have things to do. Places to be. Don’t wait up.” 

The door opened. The morning light spilled in, golden and warm, illuminating every crack in the marble floor, every piece of broken glass, every photograph scattered at my feet. 

And then she was gone. 

The door closed behind her. The engine of Alistair’s car rumbled to life in the driveway. I stood there in the silence, still holding the broken frame, still wearing my flour-dusted apron, still trying to understand how my life had become this. 

I walked to the kitchen. My phone was on the counter, exactly where I had left it. The screen was dark. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing from Alistair. 

I picked it up and dialed his number. 

It rang once. Twice. Three times. 

“Mary?” His voice was distracted, distant, like he was already thinking about something else. “What is it? I’m in the middle of something.” 

“We need to talk.” 

“Can it wait? I’m-” 

“No.” I had never interrupted him before. Not once in seven years. I had always waited, always let him finish, always put his needs above my own. But not today. Not anymore. “No, it can’t wait. I don’t care what you’re doing. I don’t care who you’re with. You need to come home. Right now.” 

The silence on the other end of the line was so long that I thought he had hung up.. 

“Alistair.” 

“I heard you.” His voice was different now. Sharper. More focused. Like he had finally realized that something was wrong. “I’ll be there in an hour.” 

“Thirty minutes.” 

“Mary-” 

“No, sweetheart. Daddy isn’t mad at you. He could never be mad at you.” I reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What happened last night wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t about you at all.” 

“Then why did he yell at me?” 

I didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that I could give to a six-year-old. So I did what I had always done, I pulled her into my arms and held her tight, and I let her cry against my shoulder while I stared at the wall and tried to figure out how to say what needed to be said. 

“Elowen,” I said quietly, “I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me, okay?” 

She pulled back, her tear-streaked face tilted up toward mine. “Okay.” 

I took a deep breath. The words felt like broken glass in my throat-sharp and jagged and impossible to swallow. 

“Mommy and Daddy both love you. More than anything in the whole world. Nothing will ever change that. Do you understand?” 

She nodded, her eyes wide and serious. 

“But sometimes,” I continued, choosing each word with care, “Daddies get very busy. With work, and with other things. And sometimes that means they can’t be home as much as they want to be.” I paused, my thumb tracing small circles on her back. “So I need to ask you something. If one day Daddy became too busy to live with us for a while, if it was just you and me, would you be okay with that?”