My Husband’s Gold Digger Test Cost Him His Wife and Son Chapter 07

My Husband’s Gold Digger Test Cost Him His Wife and Son Chapter 07

After leaving the Whitmore family, life became peaceful instead.

Thankfully, Noah was still young, so transferring schools was not too difficult.

After I brought him back to my hometown, I picked a decent kindergarten and let him continue school there.

The small-town atmosphere offered a much-needed breath of fresh air.

The kids here did not spend every day comparing whose toys cost more or whose parents drove the better

car.

Instead, their playground debates were limited to which superhero in the cartoons was the strongest.

Noah slowly became more cheerful too.

He no longer sat alone on the swing the way he used to. Now, he would line up with the other kids and take

turns on the slide.

“Noah, remember to watch Spider-Man tonight! Tomorrow I’ll be Spider-Man, and you can be Green

Goblin!”

Noah held my hand and answered with a bright little grin, “Okay. I’ll bring you the buns my mom made.”

“They’re soft and warm and really good.”

After putting on his helmet, Noah climbed onto the back of my little scooter, still waving reluctantly at his

new friend.

Since it was a small town, the ride back to our cozy little place took barely ten minutes.

Five minutes from our place, I had bought out a small breakfast café.

At first, the old owner asked me several times if I was sure, unable to believe someone as young as me could handle opening at four in the morning and closing at two in the afternoon.

I smiled and said, “I used to work three jobs in the city, and I once ran a small bakery.”

“Later, after I had my child, expenses got too high, so I sold it.”

Only then did the old owner agree to transfer the café to me.

It was a small business, and I did not hire anyone. In the mornings, I sold coffee, pancakes, and breakfast

sandwiches.

After two in the afternoon, I closed up, because with my current health, I could not push my body too hard.

“Mommy, what are we having for dinner?”

“How does chicken pasta salad sound? It’s perfect when the weather’s hot.”

Noah immediately threw both hands into the air and cheered, then happily ran to wait in front of the TV for

Spider-Man.

A little while later, he suddenly called for me.

“Mommy, come look! Someone we know is on TV. It’s the fake-smile lady!”

I had just taken the pasta salad out of the fridge and had not even set it down before Noah pulled me over to

the TV.

The news was airing the latest financial report.

[Breaking news: Lane Paper Group has officially filed for bankruptcy. The company is suspected of commercial bribery, illegal transactions, tax evasion, and multiple other violations.]

[Key individuals involved, including chairman Thomas Lane, his wife Catherine Lane, and their daughter Vanessa Lane, have been taken into police custody for questioning. The investigation is ongoing.]

On the screen, Vanessa looked disheveled, nothing like the polished, delicate woman she used to pretend to

She was dragged out of the villa in handcuffs, still screaming.

“The Lane family isn’t finished! I just secured an investment. One hundred million dollars! The Whitmore family is going to fund us!”

“Let go of me! All of you, let go!”

“I’m a lady of high society. Who do you think you are?”

I watched for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh and turned back to prep the dough for tomorrow’s batches.

Did it feel satisfying?

A little.

After all, Ryan had dared to bully Noah like that because Vanessa had allowed it behind the scenes.

But more than satisfaction, I felt a kind of weary sadness.

Someone who had once been so arrogant and untouchable had still ended up like this.

As for Ryan, that child had already been spoiled rotten.

Now that the Lane family had fallen, life would teach him enough painful lessons.

Two episodes of cartoons ended right on time.

I brought dinner out and called Noah to eat.

We had barely taken a few bites when the doorbell suddenly rang.

I found it strange.

Noah and I had only moved here recently, and we did not know many people.

The peephole on the door was broken too, so I could only raise my voice and ask, “Who is it?”

The person outside answered quickly.

The voice was so familiar that my fingers froze.

“Emma, it’s me.”

“Ethan Whitmore.”