The Wife He Forgot to Love Chapter 06

The Wife He Forgot to Love Chapter 06

All the anger I’d been bottling up finally exploded.

“Just couldn’t let her make a trip for nothing? Just can’t help yourself from giving in to her every request? Ethan, our baby died that day! And you still had the presence of mind to go downstairs and ‘just talk’?”

I was shaking with rage, but the tears came anyway, unbidden.

“Do you think that as long as you haven’t slept with her, all your favoritism, all your lingering attachment, all your boundary-crossing concern counts for nothing?”

He tried to reach for me. “No, Eve, listen to me—”

“Don’t touch me!” I jerked my arm away, stumbling back until my back hit the wall.

“Ethan, I watched you two on that field. I saw the uniform in your study. I heard your assistant talk about your past. And I kept telling myself it was in the past—I needed to be gracious.”

“And what did I get? Lies. Neglect. You choosing to run to her when I needed you most.”

“And even when our baby was gone, you were still tangled up with her!”

I jabbed my finger at that photo, my voice cracking but clear:

“This—this is what you call ‘just friends’? This is what ‘making things right’ looks like?”

Ethan’s face was ashen. He looked at me, his eyes full of pain and a helpless, defeated silence.

“She and I—it’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” I stepped closer, boring my eyes into his.

“You haven’t slept together? So you feel blameless?”

“Ethan, emotional betrayal is dirtier than physical!”

That last line seemed to drain every last bit of strength from me.

I slumped against the wall, closing my eyes in exhaustion.

“The divorce papers—my lawyer will send them to you soon.”

“Ethan, if you have even a shred of guilt toward me and our dead child—sign them.”

“Sign them, and let’s at least keep what little dignity we have left.”

With that, I didn’t wait to see his reaction. I pulled the door open and walked straight out.

The staff in the open-plan office had clearly heard everything. They sat in dead silence, all eyes on me.

Once I was out of the building, I looked up at the sky, fighting back the tears.

I knew—there was no turning back now.

The divorce papers went out, and they vanished into silence.

Ethan didn’t sign. He didn’t contact me either.

Instead, he started showing up outside my band’s rehearsal studio, outside my apartment.

He sent expensive jewelry, rare vinyl records I’d once casually mentioned wanting—trying to buy his way back.

I returned everything, unopened.

He even tried to pressure me through my parents.

My mom was worried about me, but she still tried to smooth things over: “Eve, Ethan knows he messed up. Men get confused sometimes. Look at him, waiting outside your door every day—his heart’s in the right place…”

I looked at her calmly and asked, “Mom, if Dad had always had another woman in his heart—giving her everything, jumping whenever she called, even seeing her the same day you lost a child—could you forgive him?”

My mom fell silent.

Ethan’s mother also called me. Her tone had lost its old sharpness and took on a pleading edge instead.

“Eve, I know Ethan was a bastard. I’m apologizing for him.”

“It’s okay that you lost the baby. Medicine is so advanced now. You can take your time to recover, and you’ll have another.”

I listened and felt nothing but disgust.

They didn’t care about the hurt I’d endured. They cared about keeping this marriage intact, about the Hartwell reputation, about a potential heir.

I was just a means to an end.

I rented a small apartment and started living alone.

Recovering from the miscarriage, both physically and mentally, was brutal.

I’d wake up in the middle of the night, touch the healing scar on my belly, and cry in the dark.

But I knew I had to move forward.