My Ex- Husband Wants A Second Chance

Outside, I dashed through the parking lot with my footsteps reverberating off the concrete walls.

Though my vision was cloudy from the tears I was fighting, I pressed on.

Not here, not in front of everyone.

I simply wanted to get to the vehicle, away from prying eyes and the oppressive intensity of the occasion.

Once I approached the vehicle, I struggled with the keys, my hands trembling violently.

As soon as I entered, I shut the door and at finally let go.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, hot and relentless, as the memories I had been striving so hard to hide surged back, hard like a tsunami.

It was as if I had been sent back in time to that evening one year ago.

My heart buoyant with excitement, I had gotten home from work.

Our first anniversary arrived, and while our marriage had started off rocky, I had started to believe that maybe, just perhaps, we were moving forward.

That we were making our way to each other, slowly but certainly.

I had even made a particular effort that evening. I picked up Liam’s favorite takeout, got a bottle of the wine he loved, and even put on the outfit he had previously admired.

I wanted to show him that I was trying, that I was devoted to making our marriage work, even if it had begun as nothing more than a business arrangement.

But as I came through the door, all of that optimism, that fragile feeling that we were constructing something genuine, collapsed.

He was waiting for me in the living room, his demeanor icy and disconnected.

I recall how my heart had skipped a beat, but not out of love.. out of dread.

There was something about the way he stared at me, like if I was nothing more than a stranger.

And then he gave me the envelope.

“Happy anniversary,” he had remarked, his voice devoid of any affection.

The words felt like a smack in the face, but I still didn’t comprehend. Not until I opened the mail and found the divorce papers glaring back at me.

It seemed like my world had stopped.

I couldn't inhale, couldn't process. I was locked in a stare with the documents, a fierce struggle of astonishment and sadness storming within me.

How could he do this?

How could he terminate it all so coldly, so viciously, without any warning?

But the worst was yet to come.

As I stood there, frozen by the shock, I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye.

Movement in the bedroom.

Before I could even grasp what was occurring, a lady came from the bedroom, her clothing untidy, her demeanor cocky.

She didn’t even attempt to disguise it.. her being there, in my house, on my anniversary!

Liam didn’t utter a thing.

He didn’t attempt to explain, didn’t provide any justifications.

He simply stood there, watching as my heart splintered into a million pieces, his indifference searing worse than any words ever could.

I had always understood that our marriage wasn’t founded on love. I hadn’t wanted to marry him in the first place, but I had no option.

His family had invested considerably in my father’s firm, and our marriage was part of the agreement.

It was a commercial transaction, nothing more. But I had ventured to dream, daring to trust that maybe, with time, things may change.

That we could find love, or at least anything close to it.

But Liam had made it obvious from the outset that he didn’t consider me as his wife.

To him, I was merely a means to an end, a piece in his family’s vast strategy.

And yet, despite everything, I had fell for him.

My naive, innocent heart had hung on the belief that, should I love him enough, should I work hard enough, he could one day love me back.

But all he had traded me for was suffering. Shame and suffering.

Sitting in my car now, my tears began to fade gradually and I wondered how I had permitted things to get to this.

How I had let myself be so vulnerable, so stupid.

Though I knew I couldn't stay here, wallowing in the past, my chest hurt terribly. I had to gather myself together and figure out how forward I could go.

But how could I, when the past kept rear-tracking into my life?

Every time I saw his pictures on the internet, every time I heard his name, the raw, fresh scars emerged.

I cleaned my eyes and inhaled trembingly.

I couldn't let him see me this way or tell him how badly he had damaged me. Not anymore, he did not deserve that degree of influence over me.

I started the car with a faltering hand, the buzz of the engine a pleasant detour from the storm within me.

I had to leave this place and try to leave as much space between Liam and myself.

Because I wasn't sure I would survive the next encounter if I didn't.

Searching for Angela's number among my contacts, my fingers shook.

I tried to sound calm and to keep the tremble off my voice when she answered.

"Angela, I'm sorry to bother you, something very important came up. Could you run the show for the remaining evening? I would really appreciate it."

Angela's voice was full of anxiety. "Of course, Sophie. Is everything okay? Do you need me to come by?”

"No, no, it's fine," I lied. "I simply have to take care of something personal. Thanks for understanding, Angela."

I stopped the phone before she could ask any more questions, my hands still quivering as I grasped the driving wheel.

I wasn't sure I believed my own remarks. Nothing was alright, not anymore.

And yet, I couldn't let anybody realize exactly how damaged I was.

I drove out from the exhibition hall, my heart hammering as I pushed myself to concentrate on the road ahead.

In a few minutes, I arrived at my flat.

The complex was a calm, contemporary edifice, with its glass and steel exterior reflecting the setting sun's rays.

I drove into the parking lot, pleased to be home.

But as I drove into my place, I caught sight of a gorgeous sports vehicle parked close, its owner lounging nonchalantly against the side.

It was Ethan, his towering, muscular body silhouetted against the car's gleaming surface, his phone held to his ear.

My heart skipped a beat, even as I attempted to collect myself, brushing away the traces of my tears.