Forgotten Wife: My Ex-Husband Regrets It After I Left novel Chapter 113

Sienna’s POV

When the coffee arrived, I pulled my laptop from my bag and turned it on. The screen opened again to the file I’d been staring at the night before without writing a word.

I stared at the lit laptop screen in front of me. The blank lines of the document felt like a mirror, reflecting the emptiness inside my head. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no letters dared to appear. Only the cursor blinked, as if mocking my inability to find the words.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heart with the aroma of coffee steaming from the cup. The warm, bitter taste lingered on my tongue as I took a sip. Somehow, the coffee seemed to give me a little energy, though it didn’t immediately clear the fog in my mind.

I glanced briefly at the playground. Noah was laughing heartily, sliding down the slide with two other kids who looked about his age. His hair was a little messy, but his face was so happy. I smiled unconsciously. Seeing him like that, I felt like it had all been worth it, the struggle, the pain, even the long, restless nights. As long as Noah could laugh like that, maybe I could still survive.

Back to the screen, I slowly typed a sentence. Stopped. Deleted it again. Retyped. Deleted again. And so on. It wasn’t because I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but because my mind was still filled with images from last night. Emily’s words, Liam’s gaze, everything still felt so real.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to regain composure. In my head, Noah’s voice echoed, “Mommy, I’m ready!” That simple sentence, so innocent, yet so meaningful. The child was ready, even though I wasn’t. The child had the courage to move forward, even though I still hesitated.

A faint smile appeared on my lips. I opened my eyes again and typed slowly: “About the courage of a child who teaches his parents to keep going even though the world often feels too heavy.”

This time I didn’t erase it. My hand kept moving, writing one sentence after the next. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t beautiful, but it was honest. The words flowed, not from my head, but from my heart, from gratitude, pain, and love all mixed together.

Every now and then I’d stop, take a sip of coffee, and then go back to typing. The croissant beside me was growing cold, untouched. But I didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, I felt relieved to be able to put some of what was on my mind into writing.

Noah’s laughter rang out again from the playground. I turned to see him trying out the swings, pushing himself into the air with excitement. His small eyes sparkled, his hair swaying with the movement. My

chest felt warm.

I closed my laptop slowly, this time with a different feeling. Not because I was giving up, but because I’d written enough for today. I wanted to leave time to be truly present, not just as a writer, but as a mother.

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Teached for the croissant, took a small bite, and waved at Noah when he turned to look for me. He smited broadly, waved back, and went back to playing

I stared at him for a long moment, then whispered to myself, “As long as he’s smiling, I should be able to

smile too

I took another deep breath, staring at the blinking cursor in the comer of the blank document. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The sounds of children in the playground provided unfamiliar but soothing

background music

I tried to form a sentence One Two. Then I deleted it again. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t honest. It wasn’t how

I should have written it.

I stared out the window, sipping my coffee slowly. The warm aroma touched my nose, awakening something long dormant in my head.

This time I didn’t force it. I let my thoughts drift, letting all the feelings churning in my chest sit on the same table with me. All the quilt, all the longing, all the disappointment, all the still–vague love, just let it be present, without having to immediately turn it into words.

Slowly, I typed. Not a complicated scene, not a heavy conflict. Just one small, simple, honest sentence: “There are days when the world feels too heavy, but a child’s laughter can make it all feel a little lighter.” I stared at the sentence for a long time. My heart beat slowly, my eyes felt hot. It wasn’t the first sentence of the novel I was writing, nor was it part of the plot I’d been working on for months, but somehow it felt

right

My fingers moved again, typing a second sentence, then a third, like water finally finding a way to flow. I didn’t care if this story would ever be finished, didn’t care if the world would read it or not. At that moment, all I needed was to feel alive again.

From a distance, I heard Noah’s voice calling out to me, “Mommy, look! Noah can climb by himself!”

I turned to see her on the small slide, her face beaming with the small triumph typical of children. I waved with a wide smile, this time carefree, without pretense

“Sienna?” someone suddenly called my name.

I stopped my fingers on the keyboard. That voice, a voice all too familiar, one I remembered too often even when I tied to forget, greeted me casually amidst the aroma of coffee and the laughter of children in the playground

“I never thought we’d meet here,” she said lightly, sounding like someone who had nothing else to Asse

I looked up. It was Emily Sitting without permission in the chair across from me, wearing large

some of the mustomers bosan whispering to each other

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turning their heads in her direction.

Some even seemed to be checking, “Isn’t that the model you often see in magazines?”

I took a deep breath. The world is a funny thing, always knowing how to test your patience at its most

vulnerable.

“How did you know I was here?” I finally asked, keeping my voice low, not wanting to draw Noah’s

attention, who was still engrossed in playing on the side of the playground.

Emily slowly took off her glasses and set them on the table, her eyes still as sharp, calm, and annoying.” Coincidence,” she replied casually, her shoulders slightly shrugged, as if this were all a small matter to

her.

“Coincidence?” I repeated softly, almost as if talking to myself.

Emily just smiled a little. A smile I couldn’t read, a smile that might have once captivated someone who

now lived in the same house as me.

I closed my laptop, pushing it slightly to the side. My heart was beating erratically, not out of fear, but because I knew this wasn’t a truly coincidental encounter.

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