Forgotten Wife: My Ex-Husband Regrets It After I Left novel Chapter 136

Sienna’s POV

+25 BONUS

I woke with a heavy head, as if a thousand needles were piercing my temples. Sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, falling across my messy desk, scattered papers, an empty coffee cup, and my manuscript spread everywhere. It turned out I had fallen asleep on the sofa, with my laptop still open on the table.

I rubbed my face slowly. Last night I had forced myself to write until late, maybe even until dawn. The contest deadline was only days away, and I was still stuck on the last few chapters. Every time I tried to write, it felt like I was hitting a wall, each sentence stiff, dishonest.

Taking a deep breath, I stared at the last paragraph on the laptop screen. The words looked like puzzle pieces that hadn’t found their place. I wanted to write honestly, but my mind kept splintering. Everything tangled, leaving me stuck again and again.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the table. With weak fingers, I reached for it and saw Livia’s name flashing on the screen. My editor, the one who had patiently stood by me, pushed me forward, and reminded me of reality.

I pressed the green button, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Hello, Livia.”

“Morning, Sienna.” Her voice was fresh and light, such a contrast to my wrecked body. “Are you okay? You sound exhausted.”

I let out a small laugh, though deep down I wanted to groan. “I’m fine. Just a little sleep–deprived.”

“You stayed up again, didn’t you?” Her tone carried gentle reproach, but warmth remained in it. “Sienna, you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. The deadline is close, yes, but if you get sick, all your effort will mean nothing.”

I shut my eyes, her words striking deep. “I know. I just don’t want to disappoint you. Or myself.‘

There was a pause before she answered softly, “I’ve never felt disappointed, Sienna. I’m proud you’re giving it your all. But remember, great work doesn’t come only from effort, but also from a clear heart.”

I swallowed hard, letting her words sink in. She was right. No matter how hard I pushed, if my heart was still weighed down with worry, my writing wouldn’t flow.

“Can we meet today?” she continued. “I’d like to talk about your manuscript face–to–face. I have a few more notes, maybe they’ll help.”

I straightened on the sofa, suddenly more alert. “Of course. Where should we meet?”

“How about the last café we went to? Eleven o’clock?”

“Alright. I’ll be there at eleven.”

“Good.” Relief filled her tone. “Sienna, don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? I know you can finish this. I believe in you.”

Her words warmed my chest. After the call ended, I sat still for a moment, staring at the laptop. What she said had sparked something inside me, a faint light I hadn’t felt in days.

1/4

136

+25 BONUS

I gulped down the rest of a half–empty water bottle, then walked to the bathroom. Cold water splashed against my face, washing away some of the fatigue. When I looked in the mirror, I saw swollen eyes, messy hair, but also a faint trace of determination.

Today, I had to step out. Meet Livia. Hear her thoughts. Maybe then, I could see my manuscript from a different angle.

Back in my room, I picked out something simple to wear. Nothing fancy, just neat enough. I slid part of the printed manuscript into my bag, along with my laptop and notes.

When I returned to the living room, my gaze caught on the old photo lying on the desk, the one of Liam and me I had found yesterday. I paused, staring at it for a few seconds, then smiled faintly. Somehow, the memory gave me strength.

“I’ll try,” I whispered, speaking as though only to myself. “Not just for me, but for the future I want to reach.”

I closed the laptop and tucked it into my bag. The clock was nearing ten. If I left now, I’d arrive right on time at the café.

I glanced at the wall clock again, its ticking urging me to move. But instead of rushing, I sat on the sofa for a moment, steadying my breath. Excitement mixed with nerves pressed in my chest.

Meeting with Livia always meant something. She wasn’t just a sharp–eyed editor, she was an old friend, someone who knew how to reach the deepest parts of me. I needed her honesty, even if her words sometimes cut deep. I wanted her to read these chapters, to judge them clearly, to guide me further.

My hand reached for the cup of tea left from last night. It was cold, but I sipped anyway, just to fill the silence. My gaze drifted again to the photo, Liam and me. My earlier smile turned bittersweet. A strange feeling stirred: could I truly balance everything? To be a good mother for Noah, a writer finding her way back, and a woman still learning to make peace with her past?

I rubbed my face gently, then stood. My bag was ready. I checked for my phone and wallet, slung the strap over my shoulder. But as I passed the bookshelf, I stopped. My eyes scanned the spines of thick novels I hadn’t touched in years. My old favorites, the ones that used to inspire me to write, were now gathering dust.

Carefully, I pulled one of them out, opened it in the middle, and let the scent of old paper fill my nose. Nostalgia seeped in. Back then, I used to write with so much love, without fear of the outcome. I only wanted to share stories. I closed the book, then placed it back.

“I can start again,” I whispered, like a mantra to strengthen myself.

I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a fresh water bottle, and slipped it into my bag. One small thing I usually forgot, but important if I wanted to sit in the café for a while. I also took a light jacket from the hanger, since the AC there was often cold.

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify