My Commander Ex Divorced Me Then I Became Out of His League Chapter 11

My Commander Ex Divorced Me Then I Became Out of His League Chapter 11

Gavin stared at me, unwilling to accept it. “Why?”

Why?

Because you never truly saw me.

Because in three years of marriage, you never learned what I liked to eat. You didn’t know I had nightmares at night. You didn’t know how many tears I cried after you left.

Because you slipped those divorce papers into a drawer and couldn’t even bother to call and ask, “Are you okay?”

Because I spent an entire lifetime living for you, and you never lived a single day for me.

But I didn’t say any of that.

It wasn’t worth it.

“No particular reason.” I checked my watch again. “Time’s up. I have a consult.”

As I moved past him, his hand shot out and caught my wrist.

His grip was hard. He was a soldier. His hand strength wasn’t something most people could match. But I didn’t struggle.

I just looked down at his fingers clamped around my wrist, then lifted my gaze back to his face.

“Let go.”

Two syllables.

Flat. No ripple whatsoever.

Gavin met my eyes, and whatever he saw there, I couldn’t tell you.

But he let go.

Slowly. Finger by finger.

I turned and walked into the inpatient building.

Behind me, there were no pursuing footsteps.

But I knew Gavin Whitmore stood there for a very long time.

He came back three more times after that day.

The first time, he waited outside the on-call room all night. When I came out in the morning, he

handed me a thermal container.

“Your favorite. Pot roast.”

I took it. Opened it.

Pot roast.

He said it was my favorite.

He didn’t know that I never liked pot roast.

I liked barbecue ribs.

Pot roast was Martha’s favorite.

He couldn’t even tell his wife’s tastes apart from his mother’s.

I handed the container back to him.

“Thanks. I’m not hungry.”

The second time, he got Director Liu to deliver a letter. Three pages. Filled with words about how things would be different and how he’d make it right.

I read it. But I didn’t respond.

The third time, Martha showed up.

She found my dorm room. Her face was already sour when she walked through the door.

“Sloane Ashford. What kind of game are you playing? My son said you could remarry. What are you still holding out for?”

I sat at my desk, flipping through an international medical journal. Professor Shaw had pulled strings to get it from a colleague abroad.

“Martha. Your family wanted the divorce. Now your family wants to put it back together. You want me out, I’m out. You want me back, I come running. What am I to you people? A pair of shoes you

pull out of the closet whenever you feel like it?”

Martha’s face flooded purple.

“You-”

“Also.” I shut the journal and looked at her. “That asset division list, leaving me with nothing. You drafted that yourself, didn’t you?”

Her mouth clamped shut.

“The savings. The sewing machine. The bicycle. The radio. You even took the hope chests my grandmother left me. You stripped me bare, Martha. And now you want me to come crawling back?

I stood, walked to the door, and pulled it open.

“I have nothing else to say. Please leave.”

Martha stood there, her chest heaving. Her face cycled through shades of pale and purple.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

When she finally turned and left, her steps were unsteady.

The moment the door shut, I heard her spit out a single word in the hallway.

“Ungrateful.”

I smiled.

In my last life, she’d called me a backward country bumpkin to my face. Useless. A worthless

doormat.

“Ungrateful” was actually the tamest thing she’d ever thrown at me.

Three days after Martha’s visit, another unexpected guest showed up.

Mandy.

Gavin’s sister. My former sister-in-law.

In my last life, this woman had treated me like unpaid domestic help for thirty years. Whatever her household was short on, she took from me. Her son’s school fees-she borrowed from me. Never

paid a cent back.

I did countless things for her, and she’d turn around and tell people, “My sister-in-law’s a simple, honest type. Easy to order around.”

This life, she swanned into my dorm room.

Didn’t knock. Just pushed the door open.

“Sis-oh, sorry. Sloane Ashford.” She slanted her eyes at me and planted her hands on her hips. “You’re really something, you know that? My brother comes crawling back, begging you to remarry, and you act like you’re too good for him?”

I kept flipping through my journal. Didn’t look up.

“Do you have any idea what he did for you? He dealt with Nova Pierce. Do you know who her father is? Victor Pierce. A goddamn legend. My brother burned major bridges for your sake. And you’re

still acting all high and mighty.”

Her voice pitched louder with every word.

“Let me tell you something. Don’t be an idiot. You know what my brother is? A full-bird colonel. Half the women out there would kill for a shot at him. And what are you? Just some small-town doctor. What gives you the right to be so damn picky?”

I turned a page.

“Sloane Ashford. Are you even listening? I’m talking to you!”

She slammed her palm down on my

desk.

I finally raised my head and looked at her.

“Are you done?”

“You-”

“Then get out. The door’s behind you.”

Mandy Whitmore was shaking with rage. She jabbed a finger at my face. “You think being a doctor makes you hot shit? You’re just the woman our family threw away. No one’s ever going to want you

again. You hear me? No one.”

If she’d said that to me in my previous life, I probably would’ve spent the whole night sobbing into my pillow.

But this life-

I stood up, walked to the door, and pulled it open.

“Mandy. Let’s not do this. You took years of my savings-twelve years’ worth of grocery money, eight years of household allowance, over thirty-six hundred dollars in cash. I paid your son’s tuition. I covered your mother-in-law’s medical bills. And you never paid back a dime.”

Mandy froze.

She clearly had no idea why I was talking about a “past life.”

It didn’t matter.

“In this life, you will take nothing from me. Not one thing.”

I held her stare.

“Get. Out.”