The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 331

Attacked 

MARY’S POV: 

My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. 

Elowen was curled up in the passenger seat beside me, her small body pressed against the door, her purple backpack still strapped to her shoulders. She had stopped crying somewhere between the driveway and the corner, but her face was still wet, her eyes still wide, her breath still coming in short, hitching gasps that made my chest ache. 

I couldn’t look at her. If I looked at her, I would fall apart. And I couldn’t fall apart. Not yet. Not until we were safe. 

The car was still in the garage. The garage door was still open. I had made it to the driver’s seat, had gotten Elowen inside, had my keys in the ignition- 

A knock on the window. It was loud and violent. A fist slamming against the glass so hard that the whole car shuddered. 

I turned my head slowly, my heart pounding somewhere in my throat, and I saw him. A man. Middle-aged, maybe, though it was hard to tell through the distortion of the window and the adrenaline flooding my system. His face was red, his eyes wild, his mouth moving in words I couldn’t hear over the rushing in my ears. 

Then he shouted. And I heard him. 

“Leave Alistair immediately! You hear me? He doesn’t want you! He never wanted you!” 

Elowen whimpered beside me. I reached over and pressed my hand against her chest, keeping her still, keeping her quiet, keeping her from looking at the man’s face. 

The man’s fist hit the window again. Harder this time. A crack spread across the glass, thin and spiderwebbed, and I watched it grow in slow motion, watched the fractures branch out like frozen lightning. 

“You’re nothing!” he screamed. “You’re a bitch who wants to hurt Vesper! You don’t deserve him! You never did!” 

Another punch. The glass splintered further. 

I looked at Elowen. At her wide eyes, her trembling lip with her small hands pressed over her ears. She was six years old. She had just thrown a cake at her father. She had just watched strangers gather on her lawn. And now a man was breaking her mother’s car window while screaming about a woman she had never heard of. 

I turned back to the wheel. My foot found the accelerator. The engine roared to life, and I slammed my foot down. 

The car shot backward out of the garage, tires squealing against the concrete. The man stumbled, his fist missing the window by inches, his face contorted in rage. I shifted into drive and sped down the driveway, past the other strangers who had gathered and that woman, past their raised phones and open mouths and eyes that watched me like I was a criminal. 

I didn’t look back. 

I drove until the neighborhood disappeared, until the streets became unfamiliar, until my hands stopped shaking enough that I could feel them again. I pulled into a parking lot, a grocery store, maybe, or a strip mall, and killed the engine. 

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