Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 81

About an hour later, I found myself meandering through the bustling night market, clutching a cold milkshake in one hand while a small bag of candied nuts dangled from my wrist. Above me, strings of colorful lanterns stretched across the narrow lanes, casting a warm, inviting glow over the lively stalls and the throng of people weaving between them. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to forget everything—the relentless illness gnawing at my body, Rocco’s menacing threats, and the deep sting of my mother’s betrayal.

“There it is,” Andy said suddenly, breaking the silence. “A real smile. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to do that.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I do smile,” I replied quietly.

“Not like you used to,” he teased, popping a caramel into his mouth with a grin. “Remember when we were teenagers? You were always laughing, always so full of life.”

I nodded, the memory bittersweet. That was before everything fell apart—before Rocco barged into my life, before my father slipped into a coma, before I discovered the cruel truth that I was dying.

“When your dad wakes up, you’ll be able to be that person again,” Andy said with quiet confidence.

I glanced over at a street performer nearby, who was juggling glowing batons that left streaks of light swirling in the air. The mesmerizing display felt like a reflection of my own life—once bright and full of promise, now blurred and unrecognizable. A hollow ache settled deep in my chest.

“I want to go back,” I confessed softly, my voice nearly drowned out by the hum of the market. “But I can’t. That Kira died the day I found out about Kim and Rocco.” I swallowed hard, surprised by the raw honesty spilling from my lips. “Sometimes, I don’t even remember who I was before all this pain.”

Andy’s carefree smile faded, replaced by a look of genuine concern. We walked in silence for a few moments, the weight of my words hanging heavily between us. Part of me regretted showing such vulnerability, yet another part felt a strange relief in finally speaking the truth aloud.

A delicate petal drifted down from above, landing softly in my hair. Andy reached up, his touch gentle as he plucked it free. The silvery blossom, glowing faintly under the moonlight, shimmered between his fingers, casting tiny shadows across his palm.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual playfulness. “Even the moonlight trees are trying to heal you.” He twirled the glowing petal, its edges catching the colorful lights of the market. “Sometimes nature knows better than we do. Maybe it’s a sign—you should try to believe that healing is possible.”

I didn’t respond, but a small flicker stirred inside me—not quite hope, but perhaps the faintest hint of its possibility.

The drive back to my apartment was calm and comfortable. When Andy pulled up outside my building, he insisted on opening the door for me.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify