Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129

Monica sat in the empty school hallway until four–thirty, watching the clock on the wall tick away the minutes like a countdown to her destruction. Her phone lay silent in her lap, the screen dark and unforgiving. No return call. No text message. No mother rushing through the doors to save her.

The school secretary had stopped checking on her after the first hour. Teachers walked past without making eye contac their footsteps echoing off the polished floors. Even Principal Antonio had given up trying to contact her mother simply telling her to wait until someone could pick her up.

But no one was coming. The person she needed most in the world had refused to help her

When Margaret finally arrived, reeking of wine and anger, Monica barely looked up. The car ride home passed in toxic silence, Margaret knuckles white on the steering wheel, her mouth set in a hard line that promised more conflict to come

“Get out,” Margaret snapped when they reached the house.

Monica climbed out of the car without a word and walked toward the front door like a ghost floating through her own life Her feet felt heavy, disconnected from her body. Everything felt wrong, broken, impossible to fix.

Ria and Lucas were waiting in the living room when she entered. Their faces showed a mixture of concern and embarrassment. They had heard about the fight, about the phone call, about their mother’s rejection

“Monica…” Ria started.

But Monica walked past them without stopping, past Margaret’s angry muttering, past her father’s closed study door where he was probably plotting more revenge against the mother who no longer wanted any of them.

She climbed the stairs one step at a time, each footstep taking her further away from the people who claimed to be her family. At the top of the landing, she turned toward her bedroom and stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The lock turned with a sound like finality.

Monica stood in the center of her room, surrounded by the remnants of a life that no longer made sense. Art supplies she couldn’t touch. Clothes she no longer cared about wearing. Photos of friends who felt like strangers now. Everything looked foreign, like it belonged to someone else.

She walked to her desk and picked up a pencil, holding it in her hands like she was trying to remember what it was for. The graphite tip looked sharp, purposeful. Monica pressed it against the white paper of her sketchbook and tried to draw something, anything that might express the pain crushing her chest.

But the lines came out jagged and wrong. The pencil broke under the pressure of her grip, leaving a black smear across the

page.

Monica threw the broken pencil across the room and swept her arm across the desk, sending art supplies flying. Paintbrushes scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers. Tubes of paint rolled under her bed. A jar of water shattered against the wall, leaving a dark stain on the wallpaper.

The destruction felt good. It felt honest. It felt like the only thing that made sense in a world where mothers refused to love their children.

She moved to her dresser next, pulling out drawers and dumping their contents onto the floor. Clothes, jewelry, lule treasures she had collected over the years, all of it worthless now. All of it reminders of a person she used to be before everything fell apart.

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op of the dresser Monica picked it up and held it for a wipped it The wat her mother had smiled when Monica with perial pieces over the

pagand he will repindent in pinsex ring balletas and plastic diamonds scattering

will there will eating at her insides like acid. She needed

wold match the agony at her chest.

kawined som annil her eyes frnd what the was looking for. A piece of the broken jewelry box. harap * Bar dhannan light fase her windlesur

again her thumb & thin line of red appeared, bright and real against her pale Shuching like the messy impossible hurt that filled her heart.

HEY HAVE AND WHAT HY her deres mudying the unmarked skin of her arms. So much empty space. So much

sare math he made

experimentd & shallow line across her forearm that produced more relief than pain. The second content by the furd. Monics had found a rhythm that matched her breathing

*

what if the psove building inside her chest. Each drop of blood was proof that she was still real, *******ying something other than the endless gray emptiness that had swallowed her life.

bal 15 al and this online in the dark corners of the internet where broken people shared their broken solutions. They CAR # AA whom, well mywy But those clinical terms didn’t capture what it really was, a way to turn invisible pain

Neting controlable, something that made sense.

* Max’s WINE HAIN LEXIN*ed in foi red lines, the moved her legs. The cuts there were easier to hide, safer from Patrik ye who made try to stop her or force her to talk about feelings she couldn’t explain.

*** y**** #ide de worten Maxtes felt like Hours, or maybe hours felt like minutes. The room grew darker *e the soap tai nede ver Holborn, we Via Gdan’t turn on ady lights. The darkness felt appropriate, honest.

May the ten tomhed, Monika tek calm for the first time in months. The chaos in her head had quieted to a whisper. The

hey chat to Wed par enough for her to breathe normally.

the deard the can with Tames md water from her bathroom, watching the blood wash away in pink spirals down the sink. The wond metent deep enough to be dangerous, she wasn’t trying to de, just trying to feel something other than despair.

Mema part on Yad, neages and parts to cover the evidence, then lay down on her bed surrounded by the wreckage of her * Her shume vel on the stand, will sient, will ignored by the mother who had once promised to always be there for

Ondade her lorked door, she could hear her family moving through their evening routines. Ria and Lucas talking quietly in the hallway. Margaret opening another bottle of wine in the kitchen. Her father’s voice on the phone, probably scheming agame the people who had managed to build happiness without him.

None of them knocked on her door. None of them checked to see if she was okay after the worst day of her life. They were all tun wrapped up in their own problems to notice that she was disappearing piece by piece.

Which was fine. Monica imes learning to solve her own problems now. She was learning to manage her pain in ways that didnt require anyone she’s help or attention

The cute in her arms and legs thinkbed with a steady rhythm that felt like a heartbeat. Proof that she was still alive, still igliling still capside of taking control when everything else spun out of reach

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