Dear Ex-Wife Please Be Mine Again (Christina and Alex) novel Chapter 2

As I approached our home, my heart sank at the sight of my belongings scattered outside. My clothes, shoes, and personal items were piled haphazardly on the lawn. My stomach churned as I saw Alex's mother, Margret , standing on the porch, ordering the maids and butlers to throw my things out.

Margret never liked me. She always found ways to belittle me and poison Alex against me. Seeing her now, orchestrating my public humiliation, was almost too much to bear.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, stepping forward, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and despair.

Margret's eyes flashed with contempt. Before I could react, she slapped me hard across the cheek. The sting was sharp and immediate, but what hurt more was the malice in her eyes. "You dare talk? After everything you've put my son through?"

I chuckled bitterly, even as tears filled my eyes. "I stood by Alex. I defended him, supported him through everything. You know nothing about what we've been through."

Margret sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "Take your things and get the hell out. Barren woman, who knows nothing other than squandering my son's money. Alex already divorced you and he's bringing in someone better."

The words were like knives, each one cutting deeper than the last. But I forced myself to smile through the tears. "It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

Margret 's face twisted with rage. "You ungrateful little wretch. You were never good enough for my son. You're a failure as a wife, and you couldn't even give him a child. Now he's found someone worthy of him, someone who isn't a useless drain on his fortune."

The maids and butlers watched in silence, their eyes filled with pity and discomfort. Margret continued to berate me, each insult cutting deeper than the last. “You think you’re something special? You’re nothing! My son deserves someone who can give him a real family, not a useless woman like you.”

Her harsh words hit me ever harder, with the eyes of the servants on us, witnessing my humiliation.

"You're a disgrace, Christiana. A parasite who latched onto my son's success. You have no place here. Get out and never come back."

I stood there, absorbing every harsh word, every insult, but refusing to let her see me break. I knew this was her moment of triumph, the culmination of years of disdain and bitterness. And in that moment, I realized I had to walk away with my head held high, for myself and for the life growing inside me.

“I’m leaving,” I said quietly, gathering what little dignity I had left. “But know this, Margaret. I loved your son with all my heart, and I sacrificed everything for him. One day, he’ll realize the mistake he made. And when that day comes, I hope you can live with yourself.”

With that, I turned and began collecting my things, tears streaming down my face but my mind was already made up. I would rebuild my life, far away from this toxic one.

As night fell, I wandered aimlessly through the streets, clutching my bags and hoping to find somewhere safe. The city lights blurred through my tears, and the cold air bit at my skin. I felt utterly lost, each step heavier than the last.

Suddenly, I felt a rough hand grab my arm. “Hey! What’s going on?” I cried out, but another hand yanked my bags away. Panic surged through me as I saw two men running off with everything I had left.

“No! Please, stop! Help!” I screamed, but my cries echoed unanswered through the empty streets. The men disappeared into the night, leaving me with nothing but my purse and phone.

I collapsed onto the pavement, sobbing uncontrollably. My entire world had crumbled, and I was left alone in the darkness. I felt utterly broken, my spirit crushed by the weight of my circumstances.

With trembling hands, I fumbled for my phone in my purse. It was the only lifeline I had left, the only connection to the world outside this nightmare. Through tear-blurred vision, I dialed a number, praying for someone, anyone, t

o answer and offer a tad of hope in this dark hour.