Dumped and Divorced, Renew to be Exclusive

Chapter 5

Liora

The morning light spilled over the snow like crushed diamonds, too beautiful for the heaviness inside me. I stood by the window, hugging my coat around my body even though the heater was humming softly. Ezra was on the other side of the room, adjusting his gloves, quiet but aware he always was.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said without looking at me. His voice was low, rough from the cold.

I smiled faintly. “You could tell?”

“You always blink slower when you’re tired,” he murmured, turning to face me. There was that softness in his eyes again, the kind that saw right through the little masks I still tried to wear.

I forced a shrug. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

But I wasn’t. I was tired of pretending, tired of feeling like the ghost of the woman I used to be.

Ezra watched me for a moment, then zipped up his jacket and said, “Come on. I want to show you something.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Trust me.”

That was how I found myself standing at the edge of a beginner ski slope ten minutes later, blinking against the brightness. The snow crunched under my boots, and my heart beat faster not from excitement, but sheer dread.

“You can’t be serious,” I said, staring down at the slope. “Ezra, I can’t ski.”

He grinned, slipping on his goggles. “Good thing I can. You just have to stay upright.”

“That’s not comforting,” I muttered.

“Then I’ll make you a deal,” he said, stepping closer until his breath fogged the air between us. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

It was such a simple line, but something in the way he said it steady, sure made warmth bloom in my chest.

He showed me how to strap on the skis, how to keep my knees bent, how to trust the slope instead of fighting it. Every time I wobbled, he was there steady hands, patient voice, quiet laughter when I muttered curses under my breath.

I fell twice within the first five minutes. The third time, I crashed right into him, and we both went tumbling into the snow.

“Sorry!” I gasped, trying to scramble away, but Ezra only laughed, brushing the snow out of his hair.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” he teased, helping me up. “At least you fall gracefully.”

I gave him a look. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Sure it is. You make falling look like an art.”

Despite myself, I laughed a real laugh, one that startled me with how light it sounded. For a brief moment, I forgot about Ken, forgot about Helen, forgot about the ache that had followed me for months. For a moment, I just existed wind in my hair, Ezra’s hand warm against mine, the world reduced to white snow and quiet laughter.

But happiness, for me, never stayed long. It always came with guilt, as if feeling joy meant betraying the pain that made me who I was.

After an hour or so, we stopped by a small wooden café near the slope. I wrapped my hands around a mug of hot chocolate, staring out at the endless white hills. Ezra sat across from me, his jacket dusted with snow, his hair still damp from where it had melted.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

I looked down at the steaming cup. “A little. But I don’t think I’ll ever be good at skiing.”

“That wasn’t the point,” he said gently.

I frowned. “Then what was?”

“To remind you that you can still try new things,” he said simply. “That not everything ends in falling.”

I didn’t have a reply for that, so I just took another sip and let the warmth of the drink spread through me.

After we finished, we walked back toward the resort, our boots crunching softly. The laughter from other guests echoed in the air families, couples, people living lives that didn’t hurt.

Reality seeped back in with every step. Because this trip wasn’t about fun. It was about finding proof.

By the time the sun reached its peak, my resolve returned. I pulled my camera from the bag and checked the memory card. Ezra noticed the shift immediately.

“Back to work?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “They’re here somewhere. I saw Ken’s car by the east cabins this morning.”

He nodded once, the easy humor fading from his face. “Let’s move carefully. We don’t know who else might be around.”

We stuck to the quieter paths between the cabins. My hands trembled slightly as I lifted the camera, zooming in on a row of wooden doors. I waited, heart pounding, until the door to cabin 9 opened and there they were.

Ken. Helen. And Karl.

The sight knocked the air out of me. Ken’s hand brushed the small of Helen’s back as she stepped out, his gesture natural, intimate familiar. Karl trailed behind them, smiling, clutching a snowball in his mittened hands.

My son. My little boy.

I took a photo. Then another. My fingers were steady, but my heart wasn’t.

Ezra stood beside me, close but silent, his presence like an anchor. When they disappeared down the path toward the restaurant, we followed slow, careful steps through the snow.

The restaurant was lively, full of chatter and clinking glasses. Ezra and I slipped into a corner booth near the back, pretending to browse the menu. From where I sat, I could see them clearly: Ken laughing across the table at Helen, Karl in between them, waving his fork as he talked.

Through the lens, it looked like a family portrait. The one I no longer belonged in.

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to keep taking pictures. Each click of the shutter felt like another little death.

After a few minutes, Ezra leaned in. “It’s good, but not enough,” he murmured. “They could just be friends, co-parents on a trip.”

I knew he was right. The photos were suggestive, not proof. “We need something else,” I said under my breath. “Something undeniable.”

He nodded. “Then we keep watching.”

We stayed until the plates were cleared and the three of them got up to leave. My heart beat faster as I watched them head toward the lobby, then out the back doors. I quickly tucked the camera under my scarf and followed Ezra a silent shadow behind me.

They walked along the path that wound toward the hot spring area, steam rising faintly in the distance.

That’s when it hit me. “The hot springs,” I whispered. “They’re going there tonight.”

Ezra glanced at me. “That’s risky.”

“I know. But it’s perfect.” My breath came faster, fogging in the cold air. “If I can get one picture of them together there, something close no one can deny it anymore.”

He hesitated. “Liora, if they see you—”

“I’ll be careful,” I said quickly. “I promise.”

But promises meant nothing when your heart was fractured. I had to see. I had to know.

We followed from a distance, keeping to the trees along the side of the trail. The snow was soft underfoot, muffling our steps. Ken laughed again louder this time and Helen leaned into him, her scarf brushing his shoulder.

The sight burned more than I wanted to admit.

They were heading toward the private cabins near the spring when Helen suddenly turned around, her eyes sweeping the path. I froze. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“She’s looking this way,” I whispered.

Ezra didn’t hesitate. His arm shot out, pulling me against his chest just as Helen’s gaze passed over us.

I held my breath, pressed against him, my cheek brushing the rough fabric of his jacket. His heart was steady under my ear, a rhythm that drowned out my panic.

We stayed like that for what felt like forever, the world narrowing to the sound of my heartbeat and his warmth around me. His hand was at the back of my head, protective, grounding.

After a few seconds, Helen turned away and kept walking. Only then did Ezra exhale.

“You okay?” he murmured, his breath ghosting against my hair.

I nodded, barely able to speak. “Y-yeah. I just…”

But words failed me. Because somewhere between fear and relief, I realized how close we were. How much I didn’t hate being held.

Ezra slowly loosened his hold but didn’t step back right away. “You almost got caught,” he said quietly.

“I know.” My voice trembled. “But it was worth it.”

He sighed softly, brushing a stray snowflake from my hair. “You don’t have to keep punishing yourself like this.”

“I’m not,” I said, even though maybe I was. “I just need the truth. Once I have it, I can finally let go.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at me for a long time eyes deep, unreadable before saying, “Then we’ll get it.”

We watched from the shadows as Ken, Helen, and Karl disappeared inside one of the private spring cabins. The steam drifted lazily into the cold air, hiding the doorway like a secret waiting to be uncovered.

I lifted the camera again, adjusting the lens. My fingers shook from more than just the cold. This was it the final step before everything changed.

Beside me, Ezra’s hand brushed mine lightly. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly.

“I know,” I whispered.

But I still felt alone. Because when this was over, I wouldn’t just be losing Ken. I’d be losing the illusion of what my life used to be.

As we stood there in the snow, waiting for the right moment, I realized something I hadn’t before: the pain of betrayal wasn’t just in being replaced it was in realizing how long I’d been invisible before it even happened.

And for the first time, I wondered if maybe just maybe the truth wasn’t something I needed to find.

Maybe it was something I needed to face.