The Abandoned Wife's Second Chance (Scarlett and Jasper) novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92

(Scarlett’s POV)

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I stare at the ceiling, my body tangled in the bedsheets, heart racing from dreams that felt more real than waking life. The taste of hot chocolate lingers on my tongue, phantom warmth from Jasper’s fingers still burning against my throat.

Why am I dreaming about him? Why now, when I’ve finally moved on, when I’ve finally built a life that doesn’t revolve around waiting for scraps of his attention?

The questions spiral through my mind like poison, each one sharper than the last. My chest tightens until I can barely breathe.

Three years. Three years of marriage where I was nothing more than a ghost haunting my own home. Where Virginia’s smallest whimper could send him running, but my tears were

met with cold indifference.

“You’re being dramatic, Scarlett.” His voice echoes in my memory, sharp with irritation. “Virginia needs me. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Her panic attacks aren’t real,” I’d whispered once, desperate to make him see. “The timing is too perfect-”

“How dare you minimize someone’s pain? Virginia has been through hell. Show some

compassion.”

Compassion. For everyone except his wife.

I remember our second anniversary. I’d planned everything perfectly – candles, his favorite dinner, the silk nightgown he’d once said he loved. I waited until midnight, the food cold,

candles burned to stubs.

He came home smelling like her perfume.

“She had another attack,” he’d said, not even looking at me. “I couldn’t leave her alone.”

“It’s our anniversary,” I’d whispered.

“Anniversaries happen every year. Tonight could’ve been the last night of Virginia’s life.”

Anniversaries happen every year. Like our marriage was just another date on a calendar,

The memories crash over me like waves, each one more suffocating than the last. His cold shoulder when I tried to talk to him about my day. The way he’d light up when his phone rang,

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hoping it was her. The countless nights I fell asleep alone while he stayed out “helping” Virginia with whatever crisis she’d manufactured.

And through it all, I kept trying. Kept hoping. Kept believing that if I was just patient enough, understanding enough, perfect enough, he’d finally see me.

What kind of pathetic fool was I?

My breath comes in sharp gasps. The room spins as self–loathing crashes through me like acid. How can I still dream about him? How can any part of me ache for a man who treated

me like I was nothing?

I feel sick. Disgusted with myself for the warmth that bloomed in my chest during that dream. Disgusted for missing the way he used to look at me, for craving the tenderness he showed me before Virginia poisoned everything.

He chose her. Every single time.

So why does my heart still hurt when I think about Switzerland? Why do I still keep the scarves he gave me?

Tears burn down my cheeks, hot and shameful. I bury my face in my pillow, trying to muffle

the sobs.

I hate this. I hate feeling anything for him. I hate that four years haven’t killed whatever stupid part of me still remembers being loved by him.

“Mama?”

Lily’s small voice drifts from the hallway, but I can’t answer. Can’t stop crying long enough to

form words.

“Mama, are you okay?”

Footsteps pad across my floor. Through my tears, I see Lily’s worried face hovering over me, her dark eyes wide.

“Why are you crying?” she asks, climbing onto the bed.

I can’t fall apart in front of my daughter. Can’t let her see me broken and pathetic, crying over a man who never deserved my tears.

I wipe my face quickly, trying to pull myself together. “I’m fine, baby. Just thinking about something sad.”

“What sad thing?”

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How do I explain that her father broke my heart so completely I’m not sure all the pieces will ever fit back together?

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