The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 324

The Final Decision 

Mary’s POV: 

Elowen’s small hand stayed on my cheek for a long time after I asked the question. 

The kitchen was quiet around us-the refrigerator humming, the clock ticking, the morning light shifting across the floor in slow golden arcs. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, and I could hear hers, slower, steadier, like she was the one holding me together instead of the other way around. 

“I don’t want to never see Dad,” she said finally. 

The words landed softly, but they landed hard. I felt them in my chest, in my throat, in the places where I had been storing all the hope I hadn’t let myself feel for years. 

“Of course not, baby,” I said. “You’ll always see him. Nothing will ever change that.” 

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look at my face. Her eyes, those dark, serious eyes that saw too much and asked too many questions, searched mine for something I couldn’t name. 

“But I’d even more not want to see you sad.” 

The words hit me like a physical blow. 

I had spent the last year trying to protect her from the ugliness of my marriage. I had smiled through dinners where Alistair didn’t speak to me. I had laughed through birthdays he didn’t attend. I had told her, over and over, that Daddy loved her, that Daddy was just busy, that Daddy would be there next time. 

And she had known. 

Somehow, through all of it, she had known that I was sad. 

I pulled her back into my arms and held her tighter than I should have, pressing my face into her tangled hair, breathing in the smell of her-baby shampoo and sleep and something sweet that I had never been able to name. 

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, Mommy.” 

The woman who looked back at me was not the same woman who had opened the door to a stranger in a leather jacket. That woman had been tired, defeated, still wearing flour on her apron and tears on her face. This woman was different. 

I had showered. Dressed in something that wasn’t sweatpants-a navy blue blouse that Alistair had bought me two Christmases ago, back when he still remembered my size. Black slacks that fit well enough to make me look like I belonged in a place where people made decisions. A pair of low heels that clicked against the hardwood floor when I walked. 

My hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. My makeup was minimal but precise, enough concealer to hide the dark circles, enough mascara to make my eyes look less like I had spent the night crying. 

I looked like a woman who had her life together. 

I looked like someone who could walk into a company and demand to see the CEO. 

I looked like a liar. 

But that was fine. I had been lying for the past year. One more day wouldn’t make a difference.