The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 325

The Line I Crossed 

Mary’s POV: 

Elowen’s kindergarten was a fifteen-minute drive from the house. 

I held her hand the whole way there. She didn’t pull away, didn’t squirm, didn’t complain that I was holding too tight. She just walked beside me with her purple backpack slung over her shoulder, her hair finally brushed, her dress replaced with jeans and a t-shirt that said I Heart Unicorns in glittery letters. 

At the classroom door, she stopped and turned to look at me. 

“Mommy?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

“Are you going to talk to Dad today?” 

I crouched down so we were eye to eye. “Yes. I am.” 

“Are you going to be sad again after?” 

The question was so simple, and so complicated, and so perfectly her that I almost started crying right there in the hallway. 

“No,” I said. “I’m not going to be sad. I promise.” 

She studied my face for a long moment. Then she nodded, as if satisfied, and threw her arms around my neck. 

“I love you, Mommy.” 

“I love you too, baby. Have a good day.” 

She disappeared into the classroom, and I stood there for a moment longer than I should have, watching her through the small window in the door. She was already talking to a friend, already laughing, already moving forward in a way that I was still learning how to do. 

I turned and walked back to my car. 

Alistair’s company was in the financial district, a glass and steel tower that rose above the surrounding buildings like a monument to everything he had built. 

Millions of dollars, în total. Money that had turned Alistair’s dream into a reality. Money that had built this glass, tower, that had funded this company, that had made him into the man who now looked at me like I was furniture. 

And none of them-not the receptionists, not the employees, not the executives in their corner offices-knew that I existed. 

The elevator doors opened onto the executive floor. 

The reception area was sleek and modern-white marble floors, a curved desk made of polished wood, a woman sitting behind it who looked like she had been airbrushed onto the cover of a magazine. Her hair was blonde and perfect. Her nails were long and red. Her smile was professional and empty. 

“Good morning,” she said. “Do you have an appointment?” 

“I’m here to see Alistair Vane.” 

“Do you have an appointment?” she repeated, her smile never wavering. 

“No. But I’m his-“I stopped. What was I? His wife? The word felt wrong in my mouth, like a dress that didn’t fit anymore. “I need to see him. It’s urgent.”