Forgotten Wife: My Ex-Husband Regrets It After I Left novel Chapter 13

Sienna’s POV

I stood for a moment at the doorway, letting the midday light seep through the strands of my tangled hair. The room felt stifling -like my heart. How many days had I shut myself away like this? Everything seemed to spin so fast, yet strangely slow. Outside, the world kept turning. Meanwhile, I was left behind, frozen in place. My breath felt heavy, but there was nothing to do except push myself to keep moving.

I stepped forward slowly. Each footfall felt like stepping on shards of glass. The wounds inside me hadn’t healed, but I had to hide them–especially when Noah was home. But this morning–or was it already afternoon?-I hadn’t expected him to laugh so freely. His voice rang out bright, clear, full of a joy that once used to shine for me. Now… it sounded like it belonged to someone else.

I walked through the hallway, my eyes brushing over the walls filled with Noah’s drawings. I used to be the one sitting with him, drawing, coloring, helping him tape up his favorite dinosaur pictures. Now, just sitting beside him felt like a distant privilege 1 had to earn back. Was I a failed mother? Or just a broken person who no longer knew how to be anything?

Near the bookshelf, I spotted the little lion plushie I gave him on his third birthday. It was worn now, its fur faded, but it was still there like a small reminder that good days had once lived in this house. Days when Noah called me “Mommy” with laughter, not with anger. Days before Emily was here. Days when I didn’t feel like I had already lost.

I stopped in front of the mirror hanging in the living room. My reflection looked pale. Puffy eyes, dark circles, messy hair. If it hadn’t been for Noah’s voice echoing from the kitchen, I might’ve gone back to my room, crawled under the covers, and pretended the outside world didn’t exist. But his laughter–it was like a hook pulling me back to the surface, even if I was still gasping. I wasn’t ready to face him. But I knew I had to.

My hand moved instinctively to fix my hair. I wiped the corners of my eyes with the back of my hand. I had to look calm. I had to be strong. I had to be his mother. I wasn’t a guest in this house, not an intruder. I… I was his mom. Even if my voice no longer held weight. Even if my hugs were now met with fear. I was still his mother. And I would fight for that. Slowly. Even if it meant stumbling.

As I reached the threshold of the kitchen, the scene before me made me stop in my tracks.

Emily and Noah.

The two of them stood at the kitchen counter. Noah was wearing an apron with a big dinosaur on it, his face lit up with excitement. His hands were covered in cookie dough, and Emily, beside him, helped scoop dough onto the tray, laughing every time Noah made a silly comment.

“I want lots of chocolate chips!” Noah shouted, dumping a handful into the mix–way too much–but Emily just laughed.

“If we put too much, they’ll all melt,” she said gently. “But that’s okay, let’s try it, sweetie.”

I was

I stood there, unmoving. Neither of them noticed me. The kitchen that once felt like mine now felt like a foreign place, like Iv peeking into someone else’s life–one that had no space left for me.

Quietly, I walked to the fridge. I opened it and grabbed a cold bottle of water. As I closed the fridge and unscrewed the cap, Noah’s voice startled me.

“Mommy,”

,” he said without turning around, his tone flat, “I’m really happy today. I made cookies with Auntie Emily. Mommy’s not fun like Auntie Emily.”

The words were simple. Maybe to him, they were just honest. Innocent, from the mouth of a child.

I placed the bottle in the sink and turned away. I couldn’t watch them much longer. I couldn’t bear to see my place slowly erased, replaced, forgotten–even by Noah.

“Mommy, don’t you wanna try the cookies later?” Noah called behind me, still not turning.

I paused in the doorway.

“Maybe later,” I said softly, and walked away–leaving their laughter echoing behind me. Laughter that no longer belonged to me.

I returned to my room, shutting the door gently behind me, as if afraid to disturb the joy still unfolding in the kitchen. Once the door closed, silence wrapped around me again. A silence that suffocated instead of soothed.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my desk where my laptop still glowed. The screen displayed the manuscript I’d been working on last night before falling asleep. The title remained the same.

I exhaled slowly, leaning back against the headboard. Noah’s words replayed in my mind, looping like a quiet, persistent echo.

When did I become a stranger in my own child’s life?