Her fingers gripped the steering wheel too tightly, her mind a whirlwind of frustration and fatigue. She did not sleep well while caring for poor Willa. Her daughter’s feverish face haunted her, the small trembling hand that had clutched hers, whispering “Mommy, stay.”
But she couldn’t.
And seeing Wesley stood in the doorway like a stranger, arms crossed, gaze distant, as if she were an uninvited guest in what used to be her home, made her feel unwelcome.
He hadn’t said thank you. Not even a nod. Not even a look. Same old cruel expression wishing they were never married.
She’d stayed up all night at Willa’s bedside, made porridge with her own hands, soothed her through the fever, and then slipped away quietly, because staying any longer would have broken her twice. “Willa wou
