A Wedding Offer that Made my Ex Husband Crawled Back

Joshua was safe. That was the only thing the doctors kept repeating—He’s fine. Just a few bruises. Nothing broken.

But no one asked if I was safe. Because I wasn’t.

Not when Treston stormed into the room like a hurricane ready to destroy what little I had left.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him. “You pushed a kid down the stairs?! Are you insane?!”

“I didn’t!” I cried, standing from the corner chair. “I swear—I didn’t push him! He broke the urn, I panicked, I shouted, but he ran! He slipped—I didn’t touch him!”

“Oh, so now it’s his fault?” Treston snarled. “A child?”

“I wasn’t thinking—I never wanted this! That urn was my mother’s. It shattered. I just—snapped. But I didn’t mean to scare him!”

“Your mother’s ashes?” he scoffed, stepping closer. “That’s what this is about? Newsflash, Amber—she’s dead. I should’ve thrown those ashes away the day we moved in.”

His words hit harder than any slap.

Treston’s face curled in disgust. “You know what? This is why you were never going to be a mother. You deserved to lose that child. Because you would’ve been a terrible mom.”

I gasped, the air fleeing my lungs. “Don’t—don’t say that. That baby—”

“Was never yours to keep,” he snapped. “You’re useless. Pathetic.”

Before I could even react, Summer entered the room like a scene from a perfectly rehearsed play.

“Don’t be too harsh on her,” she said sweetly, brushing past him. “Joshua’s okay now. And she’s still your wife. She said she didn’t mean it.”

Treston scoffed. “My wife? I regret marrying her. Every second. It should have been you. God, I was so wrong. So, she better start being a good one or her father might just stop breathing. You hear me, Amber?”

My hands were shaking as I clenched them at my sides. My mouth was dry.

“Apologize,” he growled.

I blinked. “To… Summer?”

“Yes,” he said, crossing his arms. “And kneel while you’re at it.”

“I—”

“Now.”

Not wanting to provoke him further—not wanting another threat aimed at my father—I dropped to my knees.

Summer walked toward me, knelt down with me, and smiled for the cameras in the hall that weren’t even there.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, crouching beside me with a fake smile. But then she leaned in, her voice turning into a venomous hiss. “You fcking btch. How dare you hurt my son. You’re jealous. Pathetic. Just like your mother.”

I tensed. Before I could even react, her hand shot out and shoved me—hard—right in the chest.

I was standing near the staircase, just like Joshua had been.

My foot missed a step.

My arms flailed, trying to grab the railing, but she was faster—she shoved me again with both hands, sending me backward.

“Die!” Summer screamed, her voice unhinged. “You deserve that for hurting my son!”

Pain flashed across my back as I tumbled.

I felt every step—sharp, unforgiving wood slamming against my spine, my shoulder, my legs.

My scream echoed through the corridor, loud and ragged. Everything twisted. Everything blurred.

A final crack of pain shot up my body as my head hit the last step.

And then—darkness.

I woke up to the sound of a machine beeping steadily beside me. Sterile lights. A pale ceiling. A dull ache pulsing through my entire leg.

The nurse walked in. Her eyes were kind, but her voice was distant. Professional.

“You’re in the hospital, Mrs. Villarez. You took a fall and broke your ankle. You’ll need a few weeks to heal.”

I blinked at her slowly. “Can I leave today?”

She frowned. “You should stay—at least until the swelling goes down. We can contact a family member if you’d like—”

“I don’t have any,” I said flatly. And I meant it.

“I’ll discharge myself by tomorrow. I’ve made arrangements.”

She tried to argue, but I’d already made up my mind. I’d be gone before anyone could drag me back in.

The next morning, I limped down the hallway with the aid of crutches, my body aching but my resolve stronger than ever.

Then I heard it.

A child’s laugh. I turned instinctively—and froze.

Joshua.

He ran straight into Treston’s arms, shouting, “Daddy!”

Treston crouched, scooped him up, laughing like the perfect father.

Behind them, Summer smiled, arms crossed like she had already won.

And she had.

I stood still. Unseen. Forgotten. Replaced.

Later that evening, I sat by the window of a nearby inn. My suitcase beside me, a file folder on my lap. My phone buzzed with a message from the lawyer.

“Divorce papers were successfully delivered to the Villarez estate. Only Treston’s signature is needed to finalize.”