He Chose Wrong I Chose Better (Irene and Ewing) novel Chapter 5

I sent the "let's part on good terms" message in the chat.

A red exclamation mark popped up.

Did he block me before? Or did he add me back just to block me again?

I was about to call him when Ewing's Dad's name lit up my phone.

I braced myself for a barrage of accusations.

But instead, Ewing's Dad sounded panicked, telling me that Ewing's Mom had gone for a checkup, and the doctor said her tumor was way too large.

I rushed to the hospital, barely catching my breath. Ewing was there, looking completely lost.

The moment he saw me, he practically threw himself into my arms, clinging to me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat.

I tensed for a second, then gently pushed him away, trying to soothe him. "It's okay. I'm here with you."

I called in every favor I had from my law firm contacts and found the best specialist for a consultation.

We scheduled surgery immediately.

The operation went even better than anyone had hoped.

But Magnolia couldn't stop herself from ruining the mood—she kept messaging. First, complaining about how hard it was to find a new job, then asking Ewing out to dinner, and finally, when she heard Ewing's Mom's tumor was benign, suggesting they hire a home nurse.

Ewing finally snapped at her over the phone: "My mom just had surgery! Do you even get it? When I signed the consent form, I was shaking so badly I could barely hold the pen!"

I stared at him, stunned.

It was the first time I'd ever seen Ewing lose his temper at Magnolia.

"Do you have any idea how hard I cried, sitting outside the OR the whole time?"

He lifted his head, and when he spotted me nearby, it was as if something dawned on him. "Irene. I think I finally understand what I did wrong."

Wrong? I'd waited so long to hear those words.

But the apology I once hoped for had faded into the background of all those suffocating days. It felt distant and indistinct.

I used to have this tiny spark of hope.

Maybe, if Ewing realized his mistakes, we could start over.

But during the week I took off to be with his mom, I finally made time to get rid of my impacted wisdom tooth—the one that had been bothering me for nine years.

Half an hour in that chair—pliers, hammer, drill—until finally, I felt this strange sense of renewal.

That tooth had grown wild and stubborn in my mouth, pressing against my healthy teeth. I'd put up with it, put up with the pain, always telling myself it would get better.

Until one day I'd just had enough.

Whether Ewing understood his mistakes or not didn't matter anymore.

I was done. I'd had enough of him; he just wasn't worth it.

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