Forgotten Wife: My Ex-Husband Regrets It After I Left novel Chapter 155

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Sienna’s POV

With ease, I arose from the sofa, attempting to rid myself of the anxiety that still gripped my heart.

“Have you eaten?” I inquired, my voice being more gentle than usual.

Liam shook his coffee cup and placed it on the table. “Not yet. You?”

“I muttered, Liam.”

We both chuckled and acknowledged our absurdity after gazing at each other briefly. Even though we were parents of an adult who had just slept, we still found ourselves in a dilemma over dinner.

“Earlier this afternoon, I had cooked,” my words were finally spoken. “There’s still some chicken soup in the fridge.”

There is not a lot, but it can be heated up.

A slight frown came out from Liam. “I’ve been missing your chicken soup.”

I halted briefly, trying to calm the whirlwind in my thoughts. The ordinary dinner was so weighty and fragile, resembling the possibility of one wrong decision having devastating consequences. Perhaps the reason is that it had been a long time coming since we last spoke in such an intimate setting, without any emotional distance

between us.

With a quick glance at the small table in front of the sofa, I noticed the steam escape from his coffee cup. Despite the lack of light in our living space, our shadows were cast onto that very same floor. It was warm, but also tense when we were sitting together. To calm myself down, I pressed my palms against the bottoms of my pants.

With his hands clasped, Liam sat motionless in a bent posture. His appearance suggested that he had some value in words and emotions that were not present. I was clueless about how to proceed. I had a desire to initiate chatting, but another part was afraid of the potential outcomes.

So, I chose silence. I heard the clock ticking slowly, but it was a nearly loud noise in that quiet area. Perhaps silence was a form of communication without the use of words. What is meant by “understanding“?

The kitchen was the destination of my thoughts. I observed the fridge still positioned against the wall and the dining table we used to sit at, including my son Liam and Noah who was learning how to hold a spoon. Noah’s little giggles, which were the sound of laughter that used to haunt us on our worst days, were so vivid and clear that I could hear them now.

The sensation was reminiscent of an old sore that had started to heal, but it still infuriated when I touched it.

I gazed down, a smile on my lips. Those were the days when warmth was not necessary and we had to be together for each other.

With deep breath, I glanced at Liam once more. He remained silent, but his gaze flickered back and forth as if he was contemplating my thoughts. How strange is this? My chest became tighter due to that sight, but I didn’t let it go this time. I gazed into his eyes, but within, there was a sense of turmoil.

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I recognized that he had a multitude of messages to address. About me leaving. About the times when I was not present at home. To how he would console Noah alone. Despite his previous statements, he continued to look at me with a tired expression and not an angry expression.

At that point, it became clear that the issue was no longer about determining morality. From the outset, two individuals were attempting to learn again with relative ease.

Pulling my cardigan in, I ducked my head and then made my way to the dining table for one last time. I felt like walking on thin legs, but my every move seemed to validate one thing, I had decided to stay. To restore order and avoid running away.

It’s like the air we were breathing was lighter. Eventually, the conversation would arise naturally and at a specific time. For now, being here standing a few feet away from him was enough to bring back the warmth that once belonged to this home.

Liam and I met, raised our heads high, and without even saying a word, we were clearly making an effort.

He spoke, and my cheeks were filled with warmth. I hunkered down and attempted to redirect my gaze. “I’ll turn and heat up.”

I approached the kitchen with a slight hesitation. I could hear Liam’s footsteps behind me, then the sound of a chair scraping as he sat at the dining table.

I spent a significant amount of time in this kitchen. The presence of the scent of wood and the gentle glow of yellow light evoked memories that were brought back to life.

After opening the fridge, I uncovered my small bowl of chicken soup. It wasn’t immediately clear whether it was awkwardness or the flood of memories that caused my hands to tremble.

I paused to fix the stove and stared at the pot. A flickering small flame illuminated the metal, creating a faint orange glow as it warmed. The clinking of the spoon as I stirred the pot ended the silence that had been hanging in the air. In the quiet kitchen, chicken broth, ginger, and scallions were all invigorated.

I felt it was a step back in time.

During that time, whenever I cooked, there would be a sound from Noah’s voice as he stood on his small stool and asked, “Is it ready?” Liam used to sit at ease and watch from the same spot, occasionally delivering humorous remarks that made me feel happy.

We built the small rhythm of our simple life in this kitchen, not just for preparing meals.

So I was back here. But everything felt different. The time gap between those moments and the present one forced me to start learning again. Making soup with little ingredients felt like a fresh start.

I witnessed the steam billowing out of the pot. The face resembled a different person now, and I could see it in the mirror. It was so faint. Tired lines under my eyes and a more guarded gaze. Yet, there was another aspect, soothness. Perhaps it was because I had come to the realization that my longing was not for a getaway, but for returning home. My abode was here with them.

I breathed deeply, concentrating on the small, everyday movements, adding salt, tasting the broth with my hand, blowing on it softly, trying to taste it for the first time. The flavor had not changed. Perhaps a bit less

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