Left in the Flooded Kindergarten for His Childhood Sweetheart Chapter 04

Left in the Flooded Kindergarten for His Childhood Sweetheart Chapter 04

I stared at those lines, a bone-deep chill settling in me.

I didn’t reply to a single one. I stuffed my phone into my purse and steadied my dad as he limped through the doorway.

The living room lights blazed bright inside our apartment. Two unfamiliar pairs of shoes sat on the entry mat: a set of thin stiletto heels, and tiny pink rain boots made for little girls.

Kylie sat on our sofa wearing my house slippers, having just finished drying Paige’s hair. Paige was wrapped up in Anna’s favorite fleece blanket, clutching Anna’s beloved stuffed rabbit plush tight against her chest.

Tristan walked out of the kitchen carrying a mug of warm milk. He froze when he saw me standing in the doorway with my parents and Anna. “You guys are back.”

My mom’s smile froze on her face. My dad stopped mid-step entirely.

I locked eyes with Kylie, then turned to Tristan. “Why is she in our apartment?”

Kylie shot to her feet, tears welling up instantly in her eyes. “Nova, please don’t misunderstand me. A pipe burst in my place and flooded the unit below mine. Paige was in hysterics, so Tristan kindly offered us a place to crash for the night.”

I didn’t utter a word. My gaze fixed on the rabbit plush Paige squeezed in her arms. It was the stuffed animal I’d hand-picked for Anna’s fourth birthday.

Anna peeked out from beside my leg, voice quiet and fragile. “Mommy… that’s my bunny.”

Paige hugged the plush even tighter the second she heard Anna speak.

Kylie let out an awkward, strained laugh. “Kids are just greedy with toys. Paige saw it and wouldn’t let go once she picked it up.”

Tristan scowled at me. “It’s just one stuffed toy—Anna has dozens more at home.”

I snapped my head toward him. “That’s her personal belonging.”

My sharp glare made him flinch, and his tone turned icy. “Nova, your parents just walked in. Do you really have to make a scene in front of them?”

My parents stood soaking wet from the rain, weighed down with bags of homemade food and gifts, looking like unwelcome strangers in the apartment I owned. Meanwhile, Kylie and her daughter acted like they owned the place—lounging on our couch, drinking from our mugs, wrapped in my child’s blanket.

I drew a deep, steady breath to calm my shaking voice. “I prepped the guest room for my parents to stay in.”

Tristan pressed his lips together tightly. “Kylie and Paige already unpacked all their things in the guest room. Paige just fell asleep in that bed—moving her again would upset her.”

My mom cut in quickly, desperate to defuse the tension. “It’s no trouble at all—we can sleep anywhere, don’t worry about us.”

Tristan latched onto her words immediately, relieved.

“There’s a fold-out cot in the storage room, right?” His tone was casual enough to make my blood run cold. “Your folks can crash there for a couple nights, it’s only temporary.”

A thick, suffocating silence hung over the room, broken only by the faint hum leftover from Paige’s hair dryer.

My dad’s face drained of all color, little by little. My mom squeezed Anna’s hand so tight her knuckles whitened.

Anna tilted her head up to look at me, barely audible. “Mommy… Grammy sleeps in the closet? But Paige got the big bed…?”

My nose stung with held-back tears. Kylie’s embarrassment flickered across her face, yet a faint, triumphant glint she couldn’t quite mask lingered in her eyes.

Tristan snapped sharply, “Kids shouldn’t interrupt adult conversations.”

I stared at him, struck by how much of a stranger he’d become.

It wasn’t that he lacked basic manners or compassion. He reserved every ounce of kindness he possessed solely for Kylie, and heaped every injustice onto me and my family.

I lifted Anna into my arms and turned to my parents. “Mom, Dad—we’re leaving.”

Tristan stared in shock. “What are you doing now?”

He rushed forward and grabbed my wrist hard to stop me from walking away. “Nova, can you just drop this already?”

I ripped my arm free of his grip, my voice cold and foreign even to my own ears. “Tristan. I want a divorce.”