The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 378

The Phone Call 

MARY’S POV: 

The words hung in the air between us, sharp and final, like a blade that had been drawn and would not be sheathed. 

“But not yours.” 

I watched Alistair’s face change. The hope that had flickered there moments before drained away, replaced by something colder and something harder. His hands, which had been gripping my arms, loosened slightly. His jaw tightened. 

“Not mine?” he repeated. His voice was low, controlled, the voice of someone who was trying very hard to stay calm. “Then who do you want to have a child with? I’m your fucking husband!” 

I looked back at him. The man who had promised to love and cherish me. The man who had broken every vow he had ever made. The man who stood here now, demanding answers, as if he had any right to ask questions. 

“Then who is your wife?” I asked. 

The question landed like a stone in still water. 

Alistair opened his mouth to respond. His lips parted, the words forming on his tongue. But before he could speak, his phone rang. 

The sound cut through the tension, shrill and insistent. I watched his eyes flicker toward the phone in his pocket. He hesitated, his hand hovering over it, then declined the call. 

“What are you talking about?” he said, turning back to me. “We’re married. We vowed to stay together forever. We have a family. Elowen is our daughter. We built a life together. If you weren’t my wife, would I have treated you this well?” 

His phone rang again. 

Alistair’s eyes darkened. “Mary-” 

“You might think I hate her. I do. But compared to how much I despise you, it’s insignificant. Without her, there would’ve been a Vivian. Or a Veronica. Or a Wesley. Because this is who you are. This is who you’ve always been.” 

His phone rang for the fourth time. 

“Because you’re you,” I continued. “And lucky for me, Vesper isn’t a good woman either. Otherwise, I might actually feel sorry for her. She’s just a placeholder, Alistair. The same way I was. The same way every woman in your life has been. Eventually, you’ll tire of her too. And then there will be someone else. And someone else after that. Because you don’t know how to love. You don’t know how to commit. You only know how to take.” 

His face was pale now and his hands clenched at his sides. His phone buzzed in his pocket, silent but insistent. 

“Answer it,” I said. “I’m done talking.”