He Called Me A Housewife While I Gave Him Everything Chapter 09

He Called Me A Housewife While I Gave Him Everything Chapter 09

Damian’s hand clamped around my wrist with crushing 

force. I winced and jerked free. 

“Damian Cross, are you done making a scene?” 

It was the first time I’d spoken his name since I left. He went still. The madness in his eyes ebbed, replaced by 

something like wild hope. 

“Nora. You said my name. You actually said my name.” 

I ignored him. I pulled burn cream from my bag and 

smoothed it over my hand. Then I walked to Leo and bowed 

slightly. 

“Leo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” 

He waved his hands, flustered. “No, no, it’s fine. Just go 

take care of that burn.” 

I nodded and walked into the building. Damian moved to 

follow. I turned and looked at him with nothing. 

“If you follow me, I’m calling the police.” 

He stopped. He just stood there and watched me climb the 

stairs. 

That night, there was no engine idling outside. No 

silhouette in the driver’s seat. I thought he’d finally gone. 

The next morning, I opened my door and found him 

kneeling on my doorstep. 

He hadn’t slept. His eyes were a raw tangle of red veins. 

His lips were cracked raw. On the ground in front of him was 

the written confession from that monster of a professor, 

complete with a thumbprint. 

“Nora. I had it posted on the school bulletin board for three days. Everyone knows you were innocent. I cleared your name. Please, just forgive me.” 

I looked at that piece of paper, and all I felt was how 

absurd it was. 

I walked over, picked it up, and tore it to shreds in front of him. The scraps drifted down like snow, landing on his scarred 

forehead. 

“Damian, the person who smeared my name in the first place was you. Now you want to play the hero who saves me?” I crouched down beside him and lowered my voice to his ear. 

“You disgust me.” 

I filed a restraining order. Damian Cross was legally barred from coming within a hundred yards of me. 

The world went quiet. 

I started learning to draw. On weekends, I took my 

sketchbook to Willow Creek Park. Leo came sometimes and brought his daughter, a sweet little girl who called me “Nora” in her bright, chirping voice. 

The sun was warm that day. I was sketching while the little girl blew bubbles nearby. Leo handed me a bottle of water. “You look better these days.” 

I smiled. “Yeah. It’s all in the past now.” 

Then the screaming started. 

An out–of–control motorcycle was barreling straight 

toward the little girl. Everyone shrieked. In that split–second, 

a figure lunged from nowhere, wrapped the child in his arms, 

and threw her clear. 

The motorcycle hit his back with a sickening crunch. The 

world seemed to stop. 

I stared at the body in the expanding pool of blood. Ice 

shot through my veins. 

It was Damian. 

Why was he here? 

The ambulance screamed up to the curb. They loaded him 

onto a stretcher. His eyes stayed on me the entire time, his lips 

moving, shaping my name. 

Leo clutched his terrified daughter. “Nora, I think, I think 

he saved her.” 

I said nothing. I packed up my easel and started to leave. 

Leo caught my arm. “You’re not going to the hospital? He’s 

your…” 

“I have nothing to do with him.” 

I cut him off. My voice was dead calm. 

“If he wants to die, that’s on him. Don’t make it my 

problem.” 

I picked up my easel and walked out of the park. Behind 

me, the whispers piled up. 

“What kind of woman is that cold? That man’s dying 

because he saved her friend’s kid.” 

“I know. Pretty face, but her heart’s made of ice.” 

Damian didn’t die. Three broken ribs. A shattered left leg. 

He’d be in bed for half a year. 

Ethan found me at the flower shop, wrapping a chamomile 

bouquet. His eyes were bloodshot. He slammed his fist on the 

counter. 

“Nora Vance, do you have a heart at all? Damian nearly got himself killed for you, and you can’t even visit him?” 

I tied the ribbon on the bouquet and handed it to the 

customer. Then I looked up. 

“Ethan. You staged that accident, didn’t you?” 

The color drained from his face. “What, what are you 

talking about?” 

“Damian’s been pulling the wounded–hero act for years. 

It’s not his first time.” I wiped my hands on my apron. 

“Five years ago, he could’ve dodged. He let that professor 

stab him five times just to make me feel guilty. Five years later, he runs the same play, only this time it’s a motorcycle. You men are tragically predictable.” 

Ethan gaped at me, his face purpling. “So what if he did? It’s because he loves you!” 

“Love?” I laughed. “Stop performing. I’m bored. Let him keep his life. Let him live long enough to spend every day repenting for what he did to my father.” 

I turned my back and went to the flower bench. Ethan 

stood there a long moment, then walked out like a ghost. 

After that day, I never saw Ethan again. I never saw 

Damian either. Gifts still appeared outside the shop 

sometimes. I donated every single one to the foster home 

down the road. 

From then on, the mountains were high and the roads 

were long. 

And Damian Cross was nowhere on my path.