Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 192

Stewart’s hand clenched into a fist at his side, as if her words had struck something deep inside him.

“It’s a pity—you’re wrong,” he said quietly.

Briony stared at him, her eyes brimming with scorn.

“If you truly understood the legend behind the Ghanaian divorce ritual, you’d realize just how absurd this little ceremony you’ve arranged really is.”

His voice was low and heavier than she’d ever heard. “I just… wanted us to have something to remember. A way to mark what we had.”

He searched her face, desperate, his gaze taking on a wild glint. “Briony, after five years of marriage, you can’t tell me there’s nothing left between us.”

“Something between us?” Briony gave a sharp, bitter laugh, her eyes flashing with unshed tears. “Stewart, now that you realize you can’t use my bond with Irwin to sway me, you want to play the ‘husband and wife’ card instead?”

Stewart’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on hers.

She continued, voice cold and unwavering: “But when was there ever love between us, Stewart?”

He stopped breathing for a moment.

“The real Ghanaian divorce ritual is for couples who once loved each other. After their feelings have faded, they return together—dressed as they were on their wedding day—to the place where they began their marriage. The ritual is about going back to where you first fell in love, letting go, and ending things with dignity.”

She stepped back, putting distance between them. “But Stewart, we never loved each other. We never even had a real wedding. So this whole charade of a divorce ritual? It’s nothing but a joke.”

Stewart opened his mouth as if to protest, but nothing came out. In the end, he could only stand there in silence.

“I’ve said everything I need to say. Five years of marriage—five years of pretending to be a mother to Irwin—it all ends today.” Briony’s words were icy, final. “From now on, Stewart, you’re nothing to me but the man who indirectly caused my mother’s death. We’re better off never seeing each other again. As for Irwin…”

She glanced at the young boy sitting off to the side. One look was all she gave him before turning back to Stewart, her face unreadable.

“His birth mother is Rosita. I can’t keep pretending he’s my son. So from now on, please—take care of your own child.”