Forgotten Wife: My Ex-Husband Regrets It After I Left novel Chapter 9

It took a while before I moved from the bed.

This room was too quiet, too empty… but it was the only place where I could breathe without feeling like a broken doll constantly being shattered.

I turned on the desk lamp and sat down at my writing desk. I took a deep breath and reached for my laptop. The screen lit up, casting a pale blue reflection on my face. I opened a new document, my fingers still trembling-

I stared at the blank screen for a moment.

What did I want to write tonight? About a woman who keeps trying to love, even when all she receives is rejection? Or a mother who tries to understand her child but is never understood in return? Or… about wounds no one can see–wounds that slowly devour the soul?

My fingers began to move. Letter by letter, the screen filled with words. Chaotic. Imperfect. But they were exactly what my mind held tonight. Sentences flowing from wounds too full to contain.

[She sat in the dark. Silence curled beside her like an old friend. Outside, the world slept peacefully. But her mind refused rest- for all she could feel was emptiness. A silence that screamed without sound.]

I kept typing without pause about my protagonist, a woman who lost herself in her role as wife and mother. About how she buried all her desires for the sake of love only to lose that love in the end.

The writing felt like therapy. As if I were pouring out everything I’d never been able to say to Liam, or Noah, or Emily–who had quietly taken my place.

I wrote until the seconds turned to hours. Until the silence turned into dawn. Until the ache in my back forced me to stop.

But my heart felt a little lighter.

Because in the middle of this long, painful night… I realized something. I could still create something. Something that wasn’t

about them

but about me.

About Sienna. About a woman finally choosing to stand in her own name.

Tonight wasn’t just a night full of wounds. It was also a night where, piece by piece, I began to form new wings.

I couldn’t fly just yet. But at least… I’d started to sew them.

A loud knock jolted me awake. Pain immediately pulsed through my forehead. I had only been asleep for about an hour after writing all night.

The world felt blurry as I opened my eyes. My breath was still heavy, my body still weak but the knock came again, louder this time, more demanding.

I got up, head spinning. Each step toward the door felt like dragging chains.

When I opened it, I saw Liam standing there. Neat. Fresh. Wearing his usual work suit. His gaze sharp–just like always.

“What is it?” I asked softly. My voice was hoarse. My body refused to stand upright.

Liam crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you forget what time it is? It’s already seven, Sienna. Why

in the room?

18

Why haven’t you made breakfast?”

I went silent for a moment, trying to push through the ringing in my head and the lingering nausea from the night before.

I glanced at the clock. He was right. It was already ten past seven.

But suddenly, something inside me lit up.

“Why don’t you make it yourself?” My voice was quiet–but sharp.

“Don’t you know I’m sick? Or are you just pretending not to?”

His eyes narrowed. But I wasn’t done.

“I didn’t eat anything last night. Just standing makes me feel like collapsing. And yet here you are, demanding breakfast like I’m your maid. Can you really not survive a single morning without someone waiting on you?”

I looked him straight in the eye, and I knew… His face showed it–surprised. Stung. This wasn’t the Sienna he knew. Not the Sienna who apologized even when she wasn’t wrong. Not the Sienna who stayed silent when she was hurt.

For the first time… I didn’t choose silence.

But before Liam could respond, the world suddenly spun. And everything disappeared.

I blinked. My breath caught.

I was still in my room. The door hadn’t been opened. My body still sat in the chair, laptop screen glowing softly in front of me. The desk lamp cast a faint yellow light. My fingers were still hovering over the keyboard.

Oh God… It was all in my head. A scene. A manuscript. Imagination–thinning at the edges of reality.

Then, the knock came. This time… it was real. I knew it because my heart jumped in response.

“Sienna?” Liam’s voice called from the other side of the door.

I turned toward the clock.

7:05 AM.

Reality wasn’t all that different from fiction.

I swallowed hard, slowly stood up, and opened the door. There he was–Liam. Just like in my imagined scene. Neat. Cold.

Indifferent.

“Haven’t you had breakfast yet?” I asked flatly.

Liam scoffed, arms folded across his chest. “If you know that, then why haven’t you come down and made it?” he said, the sarcasm cutting straight to my chest.

His gaze drifted into the room–toward the desk, the still–lit laptop.

His brows creased slightly.

“You’ve started writing again?” he asked.

I turned to face him slowly. “Why? Does writing require your permission too?”

He didn’t

tanswer.

Just turned his face away with a quiet sigh, then said,

“Just make the breakfast. I have to leave soon.”

I closed the door, my heart heavier than before.

But even within the sting of it all, I realized something-

I still had a voice. And someday… I would use it louder than this.