Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 227
Lets go
Dave POV
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+20 Bonus
Today was my day with the twins.
According to the co parenting schedule Lydia’s lawyer had sent over, I was supposed to spend the afternoon with – them. A walk. Some time at the park. Nothing dramatic.
Simple.
Normal.
The kind of thing fathers did every day.
Which was precisely why I was nervous.
Because normal was still new to me.
I arrived at Lydia’s house almost an hour early.
An hour.
Ridiculous.
The twins usually got home from school around two or two thirty.
I knew that.
I had their schedule saved.
I had read it enough times to memorize it.
Yet somehow my brain kept producing scenarios.
What if school ended earlier today?
What if they had a special event?
What if traffic was lighter?
What if they arrived before I did?
So naturally I left early.
Very rational behavior.
I sat in one of the living room armchairs while the nanny moved quietly around the house. A financial journal
rested in my lap while I skimmed through an article about emerging infrastructure investments.
I was halfway through a paragraph about renewable energy markets when voices drifted in through the open front
windows.
Tiny voices. 1
Arguing.
Very passionately.
I lowered the magazine.
1/5
“That is literally not how gravity works.”
Immediately recognizable.
Ava scoffed.
“Gravity works exactly how gravity works.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“Eli.”
“Ava.”
“Eli.”
“Ava.”
I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
Then Eli continued.
“If gravity pulled everything equally, then a feather and a rock should fall at the same speed.
“They do.”
“They absolutely don’t.”
“They do in space.
“We are not in space.”
“We could be one day.”
“We are currently walking home.”
“Temporary problem.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
The front door opened.
Both children entered mid argument.
School bags bouncing against their backs.
Ava was gesturing dramatically.
Eli looked deeply offended by physics.
Then they noticed me.
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The argument stopped immediately.
Both froze.
Not frightened.
Not upset.
Just cautious.
Careful.
Still measuring me.
Still deciding.
“Hi Dave,” Ava said politely.
“Hi Dave,” Eli echoed.
I smiled.
“Hi.”
They walked inside.
The silence lasted about three seconds.
Then I stood.
“So.”
Both looked at me.
“Today we’re spending the afternoon together.”
Ava blinked.
Eli narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“That sounds vaguely threatening.”
I laughed.
“It’s not.”
“That’s exactly what somebody planning something threatening would say.”
Ava nodded thoughtfully.
“He has a point.”
I stared at both of them.
Then shook my head.
“You two spend far too much time together.”
“We’re twins.”
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“Fair.”
ointed upstairs.
“Go get changed.”
Eli immediately sighed dramatically.
“I just got home.”
“You survived school.”
“Barely.”
“You’ll survive changing clothes.”
Ava patted his shoulder sympathetically.
“He fought gravity today.”
“Gravity fought me.”
I watched them disappear upstairs.
And despite the sarcasm.
Despite the caution.
Despite the distance still between us.
Neither child had hesitated to come.
Neither child had resisted.
That mattered.
A lot.
Twenty minutes later they returned.
Ava wore soft jeans, sneakers and a pale yellow sweater covered in tiny embroidered stars.
Eli wore a dinosaur shirt.
Of course.
At this point I was beginning to suspect every shirt he owned involved dinosaurs.
“Ready?” I asked.
Both nodded.
“Let’s go.”
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More than enough
Dave POV
The drive started awkwardly.
Not hostile.
Just awkward.
The twins occupied the backseat while discussing something that apparently required my complete exclusion.
“…because velociraptors were smarter.”
“They were not smarter.”
“They absolutely were.”
“Tyrannosaurus was stronger.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I attempted participation.
“So-”
Neither noticed.
“Eli-”
Nothing.
“Ava-”
Still nothing.
Remarkable.
I had been ignored.
The conversation continued without interruption.
Then an idea occurred to me.
“Astronomers discovered a possible new dwarf planet candidate recently.”
Silence.
Instantly.
Both heads snapped up.
Ava leaned forward immediately.
“Wait.”
Eli sat upright.
“What?”
1/7
I smiled.
Soccess.
“Very recent observations.”
“How recent?” Ava asked.
“Last few months.’
“Where?”
“Outer solar system.”
“Past Neptune?”
“Far past Neptune.”
Now both children were fully engaged.
Questions came rapidly.
Could humans visit it?
How long would it take?
Could there be life?
Did it have moons?
Who found it?
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Would it get an official name?
The rest of the drive transformed completely.
Without noticing, Ava eventually leaned against my shoulder while showing me an astronomy article she’d saved.
Later Eli climbed halfway into the center seat to explain why future Mars colonies should absolutely include dinosaur museums.
“Why dinosaur museums?”
“So future generations know what excellence looked like.”
“Dinosaurs are excellence?”
“Obviously.”
Ava nodded.
“Fair.”
I laughed.
Neither child moved away.
Neither seemed to notice.
Neither did I.
2/7
More They and
Not immediately.
And somehow that felt important.
Then Eli pointed toward the dashboard.
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“You have a lot of cars.”
I glanced at him in the mirror.
“That is true.”
“Why?”
I smiled.
“Curious?”
“Very.”
The next twenty minutes became a surprisingly serious discussion about automobiles.
I explained engine types.
Electric systems.
Luxury engineering.
Safety ratings.
Manufacturing processes.
Ava wanted to know how electric vehicles worked.
Eli wanted to know which cars could survive a zombie apocalypse.
Apparently both were equally important questions.
By the time we reached the park, they had already selected future dream vehicles.
Ava wanted something environmentally efficient.
Eli wanted what he described as:
“A scientifically responsible tank.”
The park was beautiful.
Late afternoon sunlight filtered through trees.
Families wandered across open paths.
Children played.
Dogs chased tennis balls.
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Butterflies drifted lazily between flowerbeds.
The twins immediately spotted one.
A bright blue butterfly.
Ava crouched.
Eli crouched beside her.
Neither spoke.
Just watched.
The butterfly landed briefly on a flower.
Its wings opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
“It’s beautiful,” Ava whispered.
“It looks painted.”
I found myself smiling.
Children noticed things adults forgot.
Small things.
Quiet things.
Things that mattered.
The afternoon passed gently after that.
We walked.
Talked.
Examined flowers.
Counted butterflies.
Debated whether alien civilizations would prefer rockets or teleportation.
1
Eventually we found a recreation center attached to the park where several board games were available.
Eli immediately spotted Monopoly.
Of course he did. 1
The next hour became absolute chaos.
Ava approached the game strategically.
Eli approached it like corporate warfare.
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I was apparently the victim.
Every negotiation ended badly for me.
Every trade somehow benefited them.
Every property acquisition felt suspicious.
By the final hour I had effectively been financially destroyed by two six year olds.
Eli folded his arms proudly.
“Capitalism.”
“You bankrupted your father.”
“Capitalism.”
Ava nodded.
“Unfortunately he’s right.”
I laughed so hard people nearby turned to look.
The sun had already begun setting by the time I drove them home.
The car felt different now..
Comfortable.
Easy.
The twins talked freely.
Shared observations.
Asked questions.
Argued over stars.
Argued over rockets.
Argued over whether dinosaurs would enjoy modern civilization.
Normal.
Just normal.
And I found myself wanting more of it.
When we arrived at Lydia’s house, the twins immediately climbed out.
Ava hugged me first.
Quick.
Natural.
Like she hadn’t thought about it.
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Then Eli did too. 1
ying very hard to look like it wasn’t a hug.
I didn’t point that out.
The front door opened.
Lydia stood there.
Professional clothes.
Perfect posture.
Calm expression.
The twins immediately rushed toward her.
Talking over each other.
Excited.
Loud.
Happy.
Something eased inside my chest seeing that.
She listened patiently.
Then looked toward me.
“Thanks.”
I nodded.
“You’re welcome.”
A brief pause.
Then she said,
“Have a good night, Dave.”
I smiled slightly.
“You too.”
Then before I could stop myself-
“How was-”
The look arrived instantly.
Not rude.
Not angry.
Just a very clear boundary.
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A closed door.
Areminder.
That part of her life wasn’t mine anymore.
The question died Immediately.
I nodded once.
“Goodnight, Lydia.”
She nodded back.
Then closed the door behind her.
Fair.
Honestly?
Completely fair.
I stood there a second longer before walking back toward my car.
The twins had laughed today.
Talked to me.
Argued with me.
Trusted me a little.
That was enough.
For now.
More than enough.
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- 20 8gnus
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Nothing
Dave POV
As I drove away from Lydia’s house that evening, I should have gone straight back to the hotel.
That would have been the logical thing to do.
Go back.
Answer emails.
Review reports.
Pretend I wasn’t still smiling because Eli had bankrupted me in Monopoly and called it capitalism.
A normal evening.
A productive evening.
Instead, I found myself driving toward one of the luxury shopping districts.
The twins had spent the entire afternoon talking.
And somewhere between discussions about dinosaurs, rockets, butterflies, and scientifically responsible tanks, I had learned more about their preferences than I had in six years. 1
Ava liked soft colors.
She preferred practical things over flashy things.
She hated uncomfortable fabrics.
She loved stars.
Books.
Anything astronomy related.
Eli cared surprisingly little about clothes but had very strong opinions about shoes.
Apparently shoes needed to be useful.
Durable.
Capable of surviving adventures.
Whatever that meant.
So naturally, I found myself shopping.
Or attempting to.
I had already called one of the designers I worked with regularly.
She had immediately recognized my description.
Apparently Eli’s preferred shoes belonged to a specific children’s collection.
Of course they did.
1/9
Everything had a collection nowadays.
She had offered to send them over personally.
Ideclined.
Not because delivery wasn’t convenient.
Because for once I actually wanted to do something myself.
A strange concept.
I knew.
But after spending time with the twins, it felt important.
Small. 1
Normal.
Human.
I parked and headed toward the specialized luxury section of the mall.
The entire floor catered almost exclusively to people with more money than common sense.
Polished marble floors.
Floor to ceiling glass.
Designer boutiques.
Private lounges.
The usual.
I had just stepped through the entrance when I saw someone standing near one of the jewelry displays.
And immediately regretted leaving my hotel.
Iny.
Of course.
Because apparently the universe enjoyed practical jokes.
For one hopeful second, I considered simply continuing forward.
Pretending I hadn’t seen her.
Which technically wasn’t even pretending.
I genuinely would have preferred not to see her.
Unfortunately fate had other plans.
Because the exact moment I turned slightly away-
She spotted me.
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овали
2/9
Wonderful.
Her entire face it up.
“Dave!”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Just briefly.
Then turned.
She was already walking toward me.
Smiling.
Friendly.
Almost cheerful.
Which honestly felt bizarre considering everything that had happened over the last several years. 1
“Hi,” she said brightly.
I nodded once.
“Iny.”
Her smile faltered slightly.
Probably because my tone contained all the warmth of a tax audit.
Not intentional.
Just honest.
She stopped in front of me.
“You look good.”
“Thank you.”
Silence.
Iny shifted awkwardly.
Then laughed lightly.
“You’ve always been terrible at small talk.”
I looked at her.
“I wasn’t aware we were having small talk.”
That earned an uncomfortable smile.
Good.
Because frankly, I wasn’t interested in pretending we were old friends reconnecting at a coffee shop.
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Wonderful.
if
Per entire face Hit up.
“Dave!”
I closed my eyes briefly..
Just briefly.
Then turned.
She was already walking toward me.
Smiling.
Friendly.
Almost cheerful.
Which honestly felt bizarre considering everything that had happened over the last several years. 1
“Hi,” she said brightly.
I nodded once.
“Iny.”
Her smile faltered slightly.
Probably because my tone contained all the warmth of a tax audit.
Not intentional.
Just honest.
She stopped in front of me.
“You look good.”
1
“Thank you.”
Silence.
Iny shifted awkwardly.
Then laughed lightly.
“You’ve always been terrible at small talk.”
I looked at her.
“I wasn’t aware we were having small talk.”
That earned an uncomfortable smile.
Good.
Because frankly, I wasn’t interested in pretending we were old friends reconnecting at a coffee shop.
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3/9
We weren’t.
And we both knew it.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
For the first time, I noticed the differences.
Not dramatic differences.
Just noticeable ones.
The designer labels were gone.
The expensive accessories.
The effortless luxury she used to wear like a second skin.
She still looked ok.
Still polished.
Still elegant.
But quieter somehow.
Less curated.
Life had clearly happened.
And judging by what little I’d heard over the years, it hadn’t been particularly kind.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Busy.”
She nodded.
“I heard about the audit.”
“Mm.” 1
“And the company.”
“Mm.” 1
“And… everything.”
I said nothing.
Because everything was carrying a lot of weight.
The company.
The scandal.
The divorce that never officially became a divorce.
The children.
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Lydia.
e years.
Everything.
Iny seemed to realize I wasn’t going to help this conversation along.
So she pushed forward anyway.
“I actually saw Lydia recently.”
That got my attention.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You did?”
She nodded.
“At her office.”
My expression remained neutral.
“What happened?”
A strange smile crossed her face.
One that looked almost sad.
“I apologized.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
Of all the possible answers.
That wasn’t one of them.
“And?”
Iny laughed softly.
“And she listened.”
I waited.
“Then she told me she believed I was sorry.”
Another pause.
“And?”
“That was it.”
For the first time during the entire interaction, she looked genuinely vulnerable.
No performance.
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No manipulation.
Just honesty.
“She didn’t yell.”
“She didn’t insult me.”
“She didn’t throw me out.”
Her smile became smaller.
“Honestly, I think that would’ve been easier.”
I studied her quietly.
Because strangely enough, I understood exactly what she meant.
Lydia’s anger was manageable.
Predictable.
You could fight anger.
You could defend against anger.
But indifference?
Indifference was different.
Indifference meant the battle was already over.
And one side had stopped showing up. 1
Iny exhaled slowly.
“I think I hurt her more than I realized.”
I didn’t answer.
Because there wasn’t really anything to say.
She already knew.
Maybe for the first time.
But she knew.
Another silence settled between us.
This one less awkward.
More resigned.
Then Iny looked at me carefully.
“You know,” she said softly, “I think she could be happy.”
I frowned slightly.
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“With life.”
e corrected herself immediately.
“With everything she’s built.”
I nodded once.
“She already is.”
Something flickered across her face.
Regret perhaps.
Or acceptance.
Maybe both.
Then she smiled again.
Smaller this time.
Realer.
“I suppose that’s true.”
I checked my watch.
Not subtly.
Deliberately.
The universal signal for this conversation has reached its natural conclusion:
Iny noticed.
Of course she noticed.
She always had been perceptive.
“I should let you go.”
“Probably.”
That made her laugh unexpectedly.
Then she shook her head.
“You really don’t like me.”
I considered the question honestly.
Because honesty felt easier nowadays.
“I don’t know you well enough to like you.”
That stopped her.
I continued calmly.
на
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“But I know what happened.”
Me smile disappeared.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly.
Truth usually did that.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then she nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
Very fair.
Another pause.
Then she extended a hand.
Not for reconciliation.
Not for friendship.
Just acknowledgment.
I looked at it.
Then refused to shook it politely.
Professional.
“Goodbye, Dave.”
“Goodbye, Iny.”
She walked away first.
Disappearing into the crowd.
And oddly enough, I felt nothing.
Just distance.
The kind created by years and consequences and choices nobody could undo.
I watched her disappear around a corner.
Then turned and continued toward the designer showroom.
Because Ava still needed her dresses. 1
Eli still needed his shoes.
And unlike the past, those were the things that actually mattered now.
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Suite
Dave POV
By the time I got back to my hotel suite that night, the city lights had already taken over the skyline.
Country Z looked different at night.
Softer.
Less intimidating.
The glass towers reflected gold and silver across the river while traffic moved below in neat streams of light.
I loosened my tie as I stepped inside.
The shopping bags carrying Ava’s dresses and Eli’s shoes sat on the dining table.
For a moment, I found myself smiling.
Ava was going to love the constellation themed dress.
And Eli was absolutely going to pretend he didn’t care about the shoes before secretly wearing them every chance he got.
I already knew the routine.
I was still thinking about that when my phone rang.
The caller ID immediately made me straighten.
Daniel.
Acting CEO.
Friend.
One of the few people on Earth I trusted with my company.
I picked up immediately.
“Daniel.”
“Dave.”
His voice came through clear.
“Tell me you’re finally sleeping like a normal human.”
“I slept four hours yesterday.”
“That’s not a normal human.”
“It’s an improvement.”
“It absolutely is not.”
I laughed despite myself and walked toward the balcony.
Daniel had always been like this.
1/13
Half executive.
Half concerned parent.
“I assume you aren’t calling to discuss my sleep schedule.”
“No.”
Papers shuffled on his end.
“We need to talk about the Jakarta deal.”
Immediately my brain switched gears..
Work mode.
Comfortable territory.
Predictable territory.
“The acquisition?”
“Mm.”
“What happened?”
“Their board folded.”
I frowned.
“Already?”
“Already.”
That was fast.
Too fast.
I leaned against the balcony railing.
“How?”
Daniel laughed.
“Apparently one of the shareholders suddenly remembered he had several undeclared offshore accounts.”
I blinked.
“And how exactly did he remember that?”
Daniel remained silent.
I remained silent.
Then we both laughed.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
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2/13
“What did you do?”
did nothing.”
“Daniel.”
“I merely ensured that certain regulators received information they were already legally entitled to.”
“Of course.”
“Completely ethical.”
“Naturally.”
“Entirely professional.”
“Very professional.”
We both knew exactly what happened.
No laws broken.
No threats.
No crimes.
Just strategic pressure.
The kind powerful corporations had been using for decades.
A shareholder had attempted to block an important deal.
Daniel had discovered weaknesses.
Then quietly applied pressure until resistance became inconvenient.
Simple.
Elegant. 1
Effective.
Very Daniel.
“Problem solved?” I asked.
“Problem solved.”
“Good.”
“Unfortunately,” Daniel continued, “that wasn’t our only headache.”
I sighed.
“When is it ever?”
“The Morrison Group.”
I groaned immediately.
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Daniel laughed.
hat bad?”
“That family has been trying to manipulate voting rights for three years.”
“Four.”
“Even worse.”
More papers shuffled.
“We handled them.”
I already knew what that meant.
Still.
I asked anyway.
“How?”
Daniel sounded almost offended.
“Dave.”
“Daniel.”
“We invited them to dinner.”
I rubbed my face.
“Of course you did.”
“It was a very nice dinner.”
“Mm.”
“Excellent steak.”
“Mm.”
“Expensive wine.”
“Mm.”
“And during dessert they suddenly understood why cooperation was in everyone’s best interest.”
I laughed.
“Translation?”
“We bought out their leverage before they could use it.”
“There it is.”
Daniel chuckled.
“Sometimes I miss doing these things with you.”
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4/13
“That’s concerning.”
‘s efficient.”
“It’s concerning.”
We continued talking for almost another hour.
Quarterly projections.
New acquisitions.
Board dynamics.
Market expansion.
The company.
My company.
The machine I had spent years building.
Eventually the conversation drifted away from work.
As it always did.
Daniel suddenly laughed.
A full laugh.
The kind that immediately made me suspicious.
“What?”
“Oh God.”
“What?”
“I was just thinking about freshman year.”
I immediately frowned.
“No.”
“Oh yes.”
“No.”
“Oh absolutely.”
I already knew where this was going.
“Daniel.”
“You crashed a golf cart into the dean’s fountain.”
“It was an accident.”
“It was absolutely not.”
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5/13
“It was.”
You were racing.”
“We were testing acceleration.”
“You were racing.”
“It was scientific.”
Daniel laughed so hard I had to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Scientific?”
“It was.”
“You launched a golf cart into a fountain.”
“Technically the fountain launched itself into my path.’
“Dave.”
“It did.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I became a responsible adult.”
“You became a billionaire.”
“Same difference.”
That made him laugh even harder.
For a few moments the years disappeared.
We weren’t executives.
Or board members.
Or businessmen.
Just two friends remembering college.
Before responsibilities.
Before expectations.
Before the world became complicated.
Then Daniel grew quieter.
The shift was immediate enough that I noticed.
“What happened?”
A long pause.
Then another.
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When he spoke again, his voice sounded different.
Nced.
“He showed up.’
I frowned.
“Who?”
“My father’s son.”
I blinked.
Then understood.
The illegitimate child.
Daniel had mentioned him years ago.
Briefly.
Never in detail.
“How bad is it?”
Daniel laughed.
Without humor.
“Worse than bad.”
Silence stretched.
Then he finally began talking.
“My father had an affair twenty seven years ago.”
I listened.
“The family buried it.”
“Of course they did.”
“Of course.”
Another pause.
“The boy grew up overseas.”
I stayed quiet.
“He found out who his father was recently.”
“How?”
“A former employee talked.”
That was enough explanation.
+20 Bonus
7/13
Money.
Resentment.
Loose lips.
Old secrets.
Classic disaster.
Marcus continued. 3
“At first he just wanted acknowledgment.”
“Reasonable.”
“Then he wanted shares.”
I sighed.
“There it is.”
“Exactly.”
His voice hardened.
“My father refused.”
“What happened next?”
Silence.
Then:
“He poisoned him.”
For a second I genuinely thought I had heard wrong.
“What?”
“My father survived.”
The relief hit instantly.
“But barely.”
I straightened completely.
“What kind of poison?”
“A slow one.”
Jeez.
Marcus laughed again. 2
The sound hollow.
“Apparently family gatherings are becoming more creative these days.”
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“Daniel.”
I’m serious.”-
The joke vanished.
“My father nearly died.”
I looked out across the city.
Suddenly understanding.
“You’re going back.”
“Yeah.”
His voice softened.
“The board wants me home.”
Of course they did.
The family company needed stability.
Leadership.
Protection.
Someone competent.
Daniel had always been that person.
“The investigation?”
“Finished.”
“The son?”
“Arrested.”
“Good.”
“But the damage is done.”
I nodded slowly.
Even though he couldn’t see me.
Some wounds remained long after the threat disappeared.
Then Daniel said something that made my stomach tighten./
“Your company is stable now.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t need me anymore.”
Men:
“I’m leaving.”
The words settled heavily between us.
For years Daniel had been my second in command.
The person holding everything together while I was trapped inside investigations, scandals, audits and corporate
warfare.
And now
He was leaving.
Not permanently.
But still leaving.
Returning home.
Returning to responsibilities.
Returning to family.
I understood completely.
And somehow that made it worse.
“Thanks, man.”
The words came out quieter than intended.
Daniel laughed softly.
“Don’t get emotional.”
“Lol.”
“Disgusting.”
I smiled.
Then said honestly,
“Let me know what I can do.”
“Dave.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
A pause.
Then:
“I’ll call.”
10/13
“You better.”
h please.”
His voice regained some energy.
“How could I possibly pass up the opportunity to exploit your terrifying brain?”
I laughed.
“There he is.”
“There I am.”
Another pause.
Then he sighed.
“I have to go.”
“I know.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
The line disconnected.
And suddenly the suite became quiet.
Very quiet.
I stared at the city lights.
Then at the phone.
Then at the shopping bags sitting on the table.
Ava’s dress.
Eli’s shoes.
The twins.
Lydia.
Country Z.
For months my entire focus had been getting here.
Fixing things.
Showing up.
Being better.
And somehow.
Without noticing.
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11/13
This place had started feeling important.
at because of the city.
Because of the people.
I walked toward the window.
The glass reflected my own expression back at me.
Thoughtful.
Tired.
Confused.
For the first time in years, I genuinely didn’t know what the right answer was.
My company needed me.
My board expected me home.
My responsibilities hadn’t disappeared.
They had simply waited.
Patiently.
Across an ocean.
Yet here-
I had just started building something with my children.
Eli no longer looked at me like a stranger.
Ava laughed around me now.
They touched my arm when they talked.
Leaned against me in the car.
Asked questions.
Shared stories.
Tiny things.
But important things.
And Lydia…
I exhaled slowly.
That situation was somehow even more complicated.
Because nothing existed between us.
And yet somehow everything did.
- 20 Bonus
༩།
12/13
The silence.
e boundaries.
The conversations.
The honesty.
The possibility.
I rested one hand against the cool glass.
How was I supposed to leave now?
How was I supposed to stay?
For the first time in a very long time, there wasn’t a clear answer.
No strategy.
No acquisition plan.
No negotiation tactic.
No financial model.
Just a man standing alone in a hotel suite.
Staring out over a city he never planned to care about.
Trying to figure out whether doing the right thing meant going home.
Or whether home had quietly become something else entirely.
P
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13/13
Right thing?
Dave POV
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I decided to message my lawyer that same night and told him to prepare Lydia’s and I divorce papers because that’s the best way to get Lydia to meet up with me and to also soften the blow I was about to deliver.
The divorce papers arrived faster than they should have. Not legally faster. Not technically faster. Just emotionally faster than anything that significant usually is.
My lawyer arrived in the hotel lobby looking like a man who had been personally offended by the concept of sleep. Which meant he had probably crossed at least two time zones and three levels of irritation to get here. I respected that. Loyalty like that is rare.
I signed my portion
As I was about to sign it, it felt so weird.
It felt like I was losing something very valuable and important.
I was thinking of that night where Lydia and I were so chill, the way I found out about interest in PR and all.
I was so lost in my thoughts that my lawyer said Mr Ashton?
I raised my head up and signed
Honestly, I have no idea why this was so hard.
That was the strange part.
Years reduced to administrative closure.
When my lawyer left, I stayed seated for a long time, staring at the folder like it might rearrange itself into something more emotionally manageable. It didn’t. Documents rarely do.
Eventually I called Madame Eloise.
Because at some point in life, you accept that intelligence does not always come with clarity, and clarity sometimes sounds like an old woman who refuses to let you lie to yourself.
She answered on the second ring.
“David.”
That tone already meant she knew.
I exhaled.
“My board reinstated me.
A pause.
“I know.”
Of course she did.
“I have to return.”
Another pause, longer this time, like she was deciding whether I deserved comfort or correction.
177
ཀ།།༽
+208gnus
“And what is your problem, exactly?”
eaned back in my chair, staring at the skyline through the glass.
“That I finally got in,” I said quietly. “With the children. With their routine. With something stable. And now I have to leave.”
Silence stretched.
Then she spoke, slower now.
“In five years, what will matter more to you?”
I frowned slightly.
“That is not a fair question.”
“It is the only useful question.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because I already knew.
The children.
She let that truth sit before continuing.
“You are thinking in endings,” she said. “That is your mistake.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You think leaving is the event. It is not.”
Her voice stayed calm, almost clinical in its clarity.
“The event is what they learn about you from leaving.”
I stayed quiet.
“And what is that?”
“Whether you disappear,” she said simply, “or whether you return.”
That landed differently.
Heavier.
Not dramatic. Just precise in a way that made avoidance impossible.
“You are not choosing between children and company,” she continued. “You are choosing what kind of father you become inside absence.”
I rubbed my forehead slowly.
“That sounds worse.”
“It is not worse,” she replied. “It is honest.”
A pause.
2/7
+20 Bonus
Then she added, almost casually:
Children do not suffer from distance, David. They suffer from uncertainty.”
I let that sit.
Uncertainty.
Not absence.
Not geography.
Uncertainty.
When the call ended, I stayed where I was for a long time.
Then I picked up the divorce folder again.
And decided I would tell Lydia before anything else complicated it further.
The next day, I arrived at her office early.
Not early enough to be dramatic. Early enough to be certain. There is a difference.
Her assistant took one look at the bag in my hands and decided not to ask questions. Smart woman.
When Lydia walked in, she looked exactly like she always did.
Controlled. Precise. Slightly too composed for someone carrying as much responsibility as she was.
Her eyes immediately landed on the folder.
“What is that?”
I placed it on her desk.
She opened it.
No hesitation.
No performance.
Just reading.
Page after page.
Line after line.
When she reached my signature, she didn’t react. Not immediately. Lydia never reacted immediately. She processed first. Emotion later, if at all.
Then she signed.
Clean. Efficient. Final.
She pushed the folder back toward me.
“I thought you were going to delay this.”
Her voice was neutral. Almost bored.
3/7
I shook my head slightly.
‘m not about to disappoint you again.”
That made her pause. Just briefly.
Then she stood.
“Whatever. I’m done here.”
“Lydia.”
She stopped, but didn’t turn fully.
“Wait.”
A long pause.
Then she looked at me over her shoulder.
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
She sighed, already irritated.
“Five minutes.’
She sat back down slowly, like she was granting access to something she didn’t fully approve of.
I took a breath.
Then another.
“I have to go back.”
Silence.
No interruption.
No immediate reaction.
Then her expression shifted slightly.
“What do you mean go back?”
“My board reinstated me.”
That was when it landed.
Properly.
I saw it in her face before she spoke again.
“How soon?”
“As soon as possible.”
The room changed.
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4/7
Not loudly.
Just subtly.
Like something inside it had lost stability.
Then she laughed.
Once.
Short.
Unbelieving.
“Wow.”
I didn’t respond.
She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then her voice sharpened.
“You allowed my children to get attached to you.”
I exhaled slowly.
“I know.”
“You spent months building trust.”
“I know.”
“You became part of their routine.”
“I know.”
Her voice stayed controlled, but the edges were sharper now.
“And now you’re leaving.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Complete.
I tried again.
“I don’t have a choice.”
That phrase did not help.
It never does.
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5/7
aight thing
She stood.
Not dramatically. Just decisively.
“I knew this was going to happen.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” she said flatly. “I just didn’t want to admit it.”
I watched her carefully.
This wasn’t just anger.
It was disruption.
Of structure.
Of expectation.
Of something she had quietly begun adjusting her life around without naming it.
“I have to save the company,” I said.
She nodded once.
“Good.”
That surprised me.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
Her voice softened slightly, just enough to be more dangerous than anger.
“You should.”
I frowned.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder.
“I’m not angry that you’re leaving.”
I didn’t believe that.
Not fully.
But she continued anyway.
“I’m angry that I didn’t notice how unreliable you have always been.”
That one landed.
Quietly.
Deeply.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
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6/7
C
+20 Bonus
Then she straightened again.
Professional mode returning like a shield snapping back into place.
“When are you telling therti?”
“Soon.”
She nodded.
“Do it properly.”
Then she walked toward the door.
I stood there, watching her reach it.
She paused without turning.
“They’re finally starting to trust you,” she said quietly.
Then she left.
The door closed.
And I was left alone with signed documents on a desk that suddenly felt too small for everything they represented.
Not endings.
Consequences.
And for the first time, I wondered whether doing the right thing could still make you the person someone didn’t want to lose.
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717
20 8gn
Soon
Lydia POV
I was in the middle of approving decorations for my room. My room was basically bland, in Anna’s words. She always said it lacked the excitement of a woman who had so much to live for.
So she sent me a bunch of inspiration pictures. There was a polka-dot-themed room-wait, polka dots? I would definitely have a panic attack. Then there was a Barbie-themed one-hold up, I’m not sixteen anymore. There was also a pastel-themed room, which honestly wasn’t bad. Then I saw one I absolutely loved. It was an onion pink-themed room, and I was obsessed with it.
I was just about to reply to Anna’s message when I saw a text from Dave.
Hold up.
What does he want from me now?
But the second I saw the word meeting in the message, I opened it immediately.
“I’ll call you back, Anna,” I texted before opening the chat properly.
Then I saw it.
He wanted me to meet him the next day.
I replied immediately.
The rest of the day flew by, and before I knew it, it was the next morning.
I got ready for work, and later that afternoon, Dave showed up at my office.
“What’s that?” was the first thing I asked when he slid a folder across my desk.
I opened it and laughed.
Divorce papers.
“I thought you didn’t want to divorce me.”
He gave a small shrug.
“I’m not about to disappoint you again.”
I let out a short laugh.
“Whatever. I’m done here.”
I stood and turned to leave, but then he spoke.
“Wait.”
I paused and looked back at him.
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
I sighed, already irritated.
1/5
*20 8gnus
Because there was always something with this man. Always another complication. Another surprise. Another
saster waiting around the corner.
I wasn’t about to let him ruin my mood today.
“Five minutes.”
I sat back down slowly, like I was granting access to something I didn’t fully approve of.
Because I didn’t.
Dave took a breath.
Then another.
The longer he delayed, the more annoyed I became.
Finally, he spoke.
“I have to go back.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Go back.”
For a second, I didn’t understand.
Then something clicked.
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean, go back?”
“My board reinstated me.”
And just like that, everything landed.
Wow.
So my intuition had been right.
He was leaving again.
“How soon?”
“As soon as possible.”
I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Just because I couldn’t believe it.
“Wow.”
He didn’t respond.
I leaned back in my chair, my eyes narrowing as I studied him.
2/5
“You’re serious.”
Part of me still didn’t want to believe it.
“Yes,”
Oh.
He was completely serious.
He was really doing this.
Again.
My voice sharpened.
“You allowed my children to get attached to you.”
What the hell was this?
Dave.
God.
+20 Bgnus
I hated this.
“I know.”
“You spent months building their trust.”
“I know.”
“You became part of their routine.”
“I know.”
My voice remained controlled, but the edges were sharper now.
“And now you’re leaving.”
Dave exhaled.
“I don’t have a choice.”
I stood immediately.
He didn’t have a choice?
Was that really what he was going with?
There was no one in this world who didn’t have a choice. The same way he supposedly hadn’t had a choice when he left me alone to raise our children.
“I knew this was going to happen.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” I said flatly. “I just didn’t want to admit it.”
I was furious, So angry. Why was it always us? Why my children?
3/5
+20 8gnus
“I have to save the company,” he said.
Modded once.
Of course, I was sure he’d defend himself, Typical Dave.
What else was he supposed to say?
“Good.”
The word caught him off guard.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
Honestly, what was he expecting? For me to beg him to stay? For me to tell him the company didn’t matter?
My voice softened slightly, which somehow made it even more dangerous.
“You should.”
His expression shifted.
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder.
“I’m not angry that you’re leaving.”
I didn’t even believe that completely.
Not fully.
But I continued anyway.
“I’m angry that I didn’t notice how unreliable you’ve always been.”
That one landed, The silence that followed was almost uncomfortable. Neither of us spoke, Then I straightened my shoulders.
Professional mode.
The shield snapping back into place.
“When are you telling them?”
“Soon.”
I nodded.
“Do it properly.”
Then I turned and walked toward the door.
Behind me, I could feel him watching.
I was almost at the exit when I paused.
I didn’t turn around.
“They’re finally starting to trust you,” I said quietly.
4/5
Then I left.
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20 8ghus
Strong
Lydia POV
Throughout that day at work, I was so destabilized and disappointed in myself, but I wasn’t doing much self sabotaging because I have learned to give myself grace for trying to do so much.
But then, in as much as all my years of therapy sessions, it looked like none of it was paying off because why was I still unable to give myself that same grace?
I started taking deep breaths.
Slow ones.
The kind my therapist taught me.
And then I realized that I was actually handling this better than I thought.
My anxiety wanted to deceive me into believing I didn’t know how to care for my kids.
It kept whispering the same questions over and over again.
Why did I allow him back into the kids’ lives?
Why did I accept him back at all?
Don’t I love myself enough?
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- “I’m leaving for work, but nothing changes between us.”
- “I’ll be far away, but I’ll still be showing up for you.”
- “This isn’t goodbye. It’s just a different way of staying connected.”
- “Work needs me elsewhere, but you two are still my priority.”
- “Distance doesn’t change how much I care about you.”
- “I’ll be traveling, but you’ll still hear from me all the time.”
- “I’m going because I have to, not because I want to.”
- “You won’t lose me just because I’m in another country.”
- “The job is taking me away temporarily, but being your dad comes first.”
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