Keep Your Millions, Doctor. I’m DONE. Chapter 09

Keep Your Millions, Doctor. I’m DONE. Chapter 09

Preston found a place nearby.

At 5:30 every morning, just like he used to during my pregnancy, he’d get up and make oatmeal with blueberries and toasted walnuts-the exact same recipe, cooled to the perfect temperature,

Just like those ten months when he’d been so considerate.

He’d carry the bowl over, his voice soft and careful.

“Eat first. Don’t let yourself get hungry.”

His hand reached for my hair, instinctively familiar.

I sidestepped him.

He faltered, then recovered quickly.

“I’m not pushing. Stay angry as long as you want. Take forever. I’ll wait.”

“Just don’t divorce me. That’s all I ask.”

I said nothing. My hand drifted to my lower back.

He noticed and stepped in to massage gently, his voice thick with regret.

“All because you didn’t get proper care after the miscarriage. I failed you.”

Every day, he’d bring up old memories.

How the whole hospital was jealous when I brought him breakfast after his surgeries.

How the bakery that made his favorite maple-cinnamon rolls had changed owners—and he’d take

me to try them again.

I stayed quiet, kept working.

When my lawyer texted, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

Preston panicked, blocking my way, gripping my wrist too tight.

Rain and wind blew through the open door. He looked wrecked-tired and broken.

“Thunderstorm out there. You shouldn’t go alone.”

“Whatever it is-we can work it out. Scream at me. Hit me. Just don’t leave me.”

His voice was raw. “I know I lied. I know I handled everything wrong. But I never thought I’d actually lose you. Never.”

“Whether you believe it or not-you’re the only one I ever really loved.”

I looked at this man begging me to stay.

No joy. No resentment.

Just quiet.

“Preston, let’s be honest. You’re not sorry you hurt me. You’re sorry Wendy turned out not to be what you thought. If that baby had been yours, you’d never have looked back.”

“You’re just like your father. A selfish, cold man who picks whoever benefits him most.”

“You always thought I’d wait for you—that I’d forgive you no matter what. So now you’re playing the devoted husband again, waiting for me to soften.”

“But I’m telling you-I am never looking back.”

“Preston. I don’t love you anymore.”

He froze. His hand reached out again.

The wedding band still glinted on his left hand. But there was no second ring to match.

I didn’t turn around. I opened the door.

Outside, the storm raged-wind and rain so heavy I could barely see.

Inside, the house was warm and quiet.

But I stepped out anyway.

Even if the storm swallowed me whole, I wouldn’t hide back in that house that looked intact but had been crumbling for years.

Later, Preston and I divorced.

Because of the legal transfer, his assets became mine. Life got easier.

I started taking better care of my health. On good days, I traveled.

Standing under wide open skies, my problems shrank to almost nothing.

When apology messages came through the family group text again, I didn’t laugh anymore.

I typed a single reply.

“I accept your apologies. But please don’t contact me again.”

I left the group. Blocked everyone. Changed my number.

Eventually, I went even farther away.

Everything that happened before felt like a blurry old movie.

My bread found fans. People said that someone who bakes with so much care must be living a good

life.

I smiled. It’s true.

From here on out-clear skies, open roads, and freedom. That’s more than enough.