The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 09

The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 09

Camille came with me to the follow–up.

The doctor reviewed everything and ran through the list: get plenty of rest, don’t overdo it, keep my

stress low.

Camille was already helping me into my coat, nodding along like she was taking notes.

“You heard the woman. Pain happens, you call me. I don’t care if it’s three a.m. I don’t have office

hours.”

That got a real laugh out of me.

“I know.”

We were heading out when the nurse called after us. “Ms. Langley? Your prescription.”

“Got it!” Camille called back.

She grabbed the slip, and when she turned around, Julian was standing at the far end of the hallway.

A pharmacy bag hung from his hand.

I didn’t know how long he’d been there.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

The nurse glanced between us.

“Are you family?”

Julian’s throat worked.

“I’m her husband.”

I didn’t look away from him.

“He’s not my family.”

The nurse looked between us and said nothing.

Julian didn’t move. Like the words had pinned him to the floor.

Soon he wouldn’t be my husband.

Wouldn’t be family.

Wouldn’t even be my emergency contact.

I’d erased him from every corner of my life. Piece by piece. Until there was nowhere left for him to

stand.

Camille stepped between us.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Whitmore?”

Julian didn’t look at her.

He held the pharmacy bag out to me.

“I picked up some vitamins. These are safe for you right now. They’re sealed; you can have the doctor check if you want.”

I didn’t take them.

“Julian, you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“But I don’t need you to.”

His arm hung there, extended, holding nothing anyone

wanted.

People streamed past us in both directions. Wind swept through the automatic doors and the pharmacy bag crinkled in his grip.

After a long silence, he said quietly, “I ended things with Sloane.”

“She won’t be an issue anymore.”

I looked at him.

“She was never the real problem.”

He blinked.

“Then what was?”

“It was you. Deciding, every single time, that I was the one who should bend.”

My time. My space. My feelings. Our anniversary. My pain.

And in the end, a baby who never even got the chance to exist.

Julian’s eyes flooded.

“Mara. Stop.”

I smiled.

“Hard to hear, isn’t it?”

“I lived it for three years.”

Something left his face. Like the last of him had been scooped out.

Camille squeezed my hand.

“Let’s go.”

We walked toward the elevator.

Julian took two steps after us, then stopped.

“Mara.”

I didn’t turn around.

His voice came out scraped raw.

“I’ll sign.”

My feet stopped.

He stayed where he was.

“Whatever you want. I’ll sign it.”

“The house, the money, whatever. Name it.”

I turned around.

“I already told you. I don’t want anything.”

His eyes brimmed over.

“What about me?”

The hallway went quiet.

I looked at him.

There was a time I believed that if he ever changed, really changed, I’d take him back.

I learned something since then. Forgiveness wasn’t the finish line.

Not wanting him anymore was.

“I just don’t want you anymore, Julian.” My voice was soft. Not cruel. Just done.

He signed the petition that afternoon.

During the mandatory waiting period, he had his lawyer deliver a message to me every day at seven. I didn’t respond to a single one.

The first business day after the waiting period, we met at the courthouse.

Julian was already there, standing at the bottom of the steps.

He saw me and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Did you have breakfast?”

I looked at him. “Yeah.”

“How’s your stomach?”

I gave him a look.

He stopped talking.

He’d never asked any of these questions before.

Now every word out of his mouth was an umbrella offered to someone already drenched.

When our case was called, the judge asked the standard question. “Do you both confirm this divorce is voluntary?”

“I confirm,” I said.

Julian looked at me. The silence stretched until the judge shifted in her seat.

She asked again.

His gaze dropped to my hand. The bare ring finger.

No ring.

Not even an indentation where one used to be.