Seven years into our marriage, Daniel dropped the bomb: “Sarah, loving just one person for life is so boring, and frankly, unnatural. After we divorce, you can go find some young guy, start fresh.” I pretended not to see the dozens of gorgeous women he’d “liked” on Tinder and signed the divorce papers. After the divorce, I took my autistic son, Ian, and moved to Oceanview. Daniel, meanwhile, immediately started dating a string of women, completely forgetting to send Ian’s monthly child support. I wasn’t desperate for that pittance, and to sever all ties, I blocked him on everything. Two years later, he tracked me down, overflowing with regret: “Sarah, let’s get back together. Life just feels so meaningless without you.” But by then, I was already remarried and had my second child! I stared at Daniel, utterly taken aback. Two years hadn’t been kind to him; he seemed to have lost a lot of weight. His face was a sickly yellow. “Mom, is Dad back?” Ian, having just changed, burst out of his room, his face alight with excitement. But the moment he saw Daniel, his excitement evaporated. “What are you doing here?” “Ian, you’re talking? You’re not… autistic anymore?” Daniel’s eyes welled up with tears as he looked at our son, who had grown so much and changed dramatically. He immediately moved to pull him into a hug. But Ian pushed him away. Daniel looked confused: “Ian, weren’t you just so excited, calling me Dad? Dad’s back! I came to see you and Mom.” “You don’t know how much Dad has missed you and Mom these past two years…” Ian and I exchanged a glance. We instantly understood Daniel had gotten the wrong idea. I was about to explain, but Ian tugged at my sleeve: “Mom, we’ll be late.” Ian’s autism was cured, but he wasn’t foolish; he remembered everything. I didn’t say a single word to Daniel, just got in the car with Ian and drove him to his art class. Soon after, my current husband called: “Honey, miss me? Just wired you ten thousand bucks. Go do some shopping first; I’ll find you after the baby’s check-up.” Hunter was incredibly thoughtful, and I smiled sweetly. After receiving the money, I went to a baby store. To my surprise, when I was at the checkout, Daniel appeared. He saw the pile of baby clothes I’d chosen and froze for a second. Then, he started putting everything back on the shelves: “Sarah, I knew you were waiting for me. But can we maybe hold off on having a second child for a bit…?” “Who said I was having a second child with you?” I glared at him as if he’d lost his mind. His smile faltered, and he tried to take my hand, but I pulled away. “Sarah, I know these past two years, raising Ian alone has been tough. It’s all my fault for not doing my part. I’ll make it up to you.” He pulled out a card and pressed it into my hand. I was about to refuse, but he said: “This is Ian’s child support for the last two years.” Compensation? That was just overdue child support! I didn’t hesitate; I took the card and put the baby items I’d chosen back on the counter. He grabbed my arm again, saying: “Sarah, listen to me. I really don’t want a second child right now.” “Daniel, I’m already remarried! I have a new family and a new child! Please, stop harassing me!” “I don’t believe it! A divorced woman with an autistic kid? Who would *ever* want you, besides me?”
I scoffed. Daniel had started to resent me and Ian ages ago. Once, after too many drinks, Daniel had asked me: “Sarah, how could we have produced such a… a *burden*?” In that moment, I knew there was no going back for us. On the day of our divorce, Daniel stood at the door, a look of utter relief on his face, like a weight had been lifted. He didn’t even hug Ian, just gave my shoulder a curt pat: “Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything.” I nodded and left. He, meanwhile, wasted no time rushing off to his dates. I found a modest apartment in Oceanview and an office job that paid about four thousand a month, with flexible hours. But Ian kept getting sick, every other week it seemed. The frequent sick leaves forced me to quit my job. What came next was even worse. Ian developed pneumonia, and I caught the flu, burning up with fever. I hired a professional caregiver, but Ian hated her; his anxiety kept him up all night. I had to shoulder everything alone. Ian finally fell asleep in my arms, but he was still whimpering “Daddy.” The fresh-faced nurse, clearly new to the realities of life, quietly asked me: “Ma’am, where’s the baby’s father? Can’t he come take over for a bit?” That’s when I remembered I hadn’t contacted Daniel in almost three months. I picked up my phone and dialed his familiar number. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. “Daniel, Ian is hospitalized with pneumonia, and I’m just completely—” “I’m tied up, can we talk later?” Loud music and carefree laughter blared in the background. The call ended. I froze for a few seconds, then called again, but it went straight to voicemail. After that, Daniel stopped sending Ian’s child support. I felt justified in confronting him, but all I got from his friend, Mark, was a lecture: “Frankly, Daniel carried you and Ian for *seven years*. He’s done more than his share.” “You’re being completely ungrateful, practically harassing him.” A chill ran down my spine. On a chilling impulse, I opened Daniel’s Instagram. His latest post was from ten minutes ago. The photo showed Daniel, an arm around a scantily clad young woman on each side. He was smiling so broadly, his eyes radiating the same confident, carefree swagger I once knew. The caption read: “Freedom at last! New chapter begins!” My fingers trembled as I scrolled down. Before that, there were pictures of him on ski trips, road trips, and lavish parties. Three months after our divorce, his life was so vibrant, it was as if he’d traded his old one for a brand new one. And me? I was in a strange city, with our sick child, being chewed out by the hospital staff.
After Ian was discharged, I made a decision—to get back into the restaurant industry. I’d been in the business before he was born. My kind landlady helped me spread the word. After three grueling months, business at the restaurant was booming, and even Ian seemed genuinely happy for me. He wrapped his arms around me and uttered his first full sentence: “Mom…my…I’ll…grow…up…fast…and…help…you.” He was true to his word. By six, when I returned with groceries, he’d be up, ready to help with whatever he could. During a follow-up visit to the hospital, the doctor was especially pleased with Ian’s progress. After chatting with Ian alone for about half an hour, the doctor handed me a drawing. He pointed to the family of three in the picture and told me that Ian still longed for a father’s love and a complete family. By then, my little diner was finally bringing in a steady income. A thought, one I still loathe myself for, crept into my mind. I thought, now that I could earn money and Ian was improving, we weren’t a burden to Daniel anymore. He’d had his fun for half a year, surely he’d had enough? Maybe we still had a chance to get back together. For Ian’s sake, I was willing to set aside all my hurt and resentment. But when I took Ian and returned to Riverton to see Daniel, he was in Iceland, chasing the Northern Lights with his new girlfriend. Ian squeezed my hand: “Mom, let’s go home. I don’t need a dad!” In that moment, I mourned Daniel as if he were dead. Perhaps fate had taken pity on us; Ian and I grew stronger. Not just my business, but his health too. Because we met my current husband, Hunter Peterson. From the moment I started planning my restaurant, needing part-time help, he was always there, working odd shifts. Later, I learned he was a brilliant business management grad. His dream, just like mine, was to open a restaurant. Naturally, we fell in love and got married. Now, with Hunter’s constant presence, Ian was practically indistinguishable from any other kid his age. We also had our own child. And my restaurant business had grown to three locations, each one more bustling and profitable than the last. So, facing Daniel’s sneering remark, I immediately retorted: “You’re wrong. A divorced woman, even one with an autistic child, *is* loved.” He laughed then. “Sarah, I’m not trying to be mean, but you? No makeup, always bare-faced? Who would even give you a second glance? And with that baggage of a kid, what man would ever want you?” I didn’t hold back. I pointed at the deep wrinkles around his eyes, clicking my tongue in mock pity: “Looks like you’re aging faster than I am! Are you too old to keep up with the young girls? Are they finally tired of your act? Is that why you’re coming back to me? I don’t recycle trash, especially not the kind that’s this utterly filthy!”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “323333”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic #重生Reborn
Leave a Reply