Dumped and Divorced, Renew to be Exclusive

Chapter 9

Liora

When I opened my eyes again, the world outside the car window looked completely different. The cold mountains and endless stretch of snow were long gone, replaced by quiet houses with rose bushes growing wild over fences and tall, old trees that stretched their branches across the road like they were trying to hold hands. Ezra had brought me somewhere safe somewhere familiar.

My chest tightened the moment recognition settled in.

“This is my grandmother’s house,” he said softly as he parked the car.

But he didn’t need to say it. I knew the pale yellow walls, the green shutters, the flower boxes bursting with violets. I knew the cobblestone path leading to the porch and the little wind chime that tinkled even when there was no wind. I knew this place because for years it had been my view across the hedge.

I used to be their neighbor.

The front door opened before I could unbuckle my seatbelt, and a tiny woman stepped out, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her silver hair was pinned loosely, and her smile was exactly as I remembered warm, knowing, a little mischievous.

“Liora,” Lisa said, her eyes softening as she hurried toward me. “Sweetheart, get out of that car. Let me look at you.”

My throat closed. It had been so long since someone said my name like that with affection instead of exhaustion or irritation.

I got out slowly. Lisa didn’t hesitate. She cupped my cheeks with both hands, her touch gentle but firm, scanning my face like she was checking for bruises on my soul.

“Oh, my girl,” she murmured. “Ezra told me you were coming, but seeing you with my own eyes come here.”

She pulled me into her arms. And I melted.

It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t overly emotional. It was the kind of hug that remembered me the kind I hadn’t felt in years. Lisa had always been that way. Even when Ezra and I were kids, she used to slip homemade muffins over the fence because she said teenagers needed sweetness to survive.

“You should have come sooner,” she continued as she held me. “You know this house is always open to you.”

Ezra stood a few steps back, watching quietly, his expression unreadable but soft around the edges.

Lisa finally released me, patting my cheek. “Come inside, both of you. I’ve got stew on the stove and fresh bread in the oven.”

Inside, the house smelled like cinnamon, butter, and a hint of rosemary. Nothing had changed. The same knitted blankets draped over the same chairs. The same old photographs lining the walls family gatherings, birthdays, a much younger Ezra grinning with crooked glasses and scraped knees.

“Put your things down,” Lisa said, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Liora, dear, grab an apron. I’m not letting you sit and brood. You’ll help me stir the stew.”

Ezra groaned. “Grandma don’t bully the guests.”

Lisa shot him a look. “She’s not a guest. She’s family.”

My heart clenched so hard it hurt.

She tied the apron around my waist like she’d done dozens of times when I was a teenager hiding in her kitchen from my own messy home. Back then, she’d feed me cookies and tell me that children shouldn’t carry the weight of adults.

Being back here felt like stepping into a memory that had waited patiently for me to return.

As we cooked, Lisa talked the whole time about her garden, the neighbors who still fought over property lines, and the stray cat that had adopted her. Then the stories shifted, flowing easily into tales of Ezra’s childhood.

“He once tried to build a rocket out of soda bottles and vinegar,” she said, stirring the pot. “Nearly launched half my flower beds into the neighbor’s yard.”

Ezra leaned against the counter, rolling his eyes. “It was science.”

“It was chaos,” Lisa corrected, wagging a spoon at him. “And don’t get me started on the time you tried to climb onto the roof because you thought you heard Santa.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. A real laugh.

Small, startled.

But real.

Ezra looked up at the sound, and something warm flickered in his expression.

For the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was suffocating. This kitchen this home had a way of softening the sharp edges inside me. Every creak in the floorboards felt like a whisper saying: you’re safe now.

When dinner was ready, we sat at the small wooden table. Lisa said a blessing, her voice calm and gentle. The food was simple beef stew, warm bread, baked apples but to me it felt like a feast.

Throughout the meal, Lisa talked and teased and filled the room with her bright, familiar presence. Ezra kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, as if checking whether I was still holding myself together.

I was. Barely. But I was.

After dinner, Lisa insisted on dessert.

“I’ll handle the dishes,” she said, shooing me toward the door. “Go take a walk. Ezra knows where to go.”

Outside, the evening air was cool, and the last colors of sunset faded into a gentle violet. Ezra opened the car door without a word.

We drove in silence, the town shrinking behind us. The streets were the same ones we used to bike down as kids. The same tiny shops. The same quiet corners.

When he finally stopped the car, I stared at the building in front of us.

The old school on the hill.

“Why here?” I whispered.

He shrugged lightly. “We used to walk past this place every morning. Thought maybe it’d help to see something familiar.”

I got out, running my hand along the rusted fence. The school looked smaller than I remembered, almost fragile.

“You know,” I said quietly, “I used to hear about you all the time. Even when I was a first-year. ‘Ezra this, Ezra that.’ Teachers talked about you like you were some kind of legend.”

He snorted. “A very boring legend.”

“No,” I said softly. “A good one. You were the boy everyone noticed. The one teachers bragged about. The one parents used as an example.”

“And you?” he asked.

“I was the girl no one looked at twice,” I whispered.

The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered.

Ezra turned toward me, his expression shifting gentle, serious.

“You were noticed, Liora. You were just surrounded by people who didn’t know how to see someone properly.”

My throat tightened painfully.

“It hurt,” I admitted. “Being invisible at home. Being invisible at school. And then even Karl—”

Ezra stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that his presence wrapped around me like a quiet shield.

“He failed you,” Ezra said. “But that’s not your fault.”

We walked along the fence, the night insects humming softly around us.

After a while, he asked, “So what do you want to do now?”

I let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t even know who I am without them. I spent years being Ken’s wife, Karl’s mother and now it feels like I’m just empty space.”

“You’re not empty,” he said. “You’re rebuilding.”

I looked at him. “You really think I can start over?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “One step at a time. And if you come to New York with me I have a place for you. A job. Something I think you’d be perfect at.”

“What kind of job?”

He smiled, teasing. “Classified.”

I rolled my eyes through a watery laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m right.”

And standing there, under the dim glow of the streetlamps, I felt something loosen inside me.

Something old.

Something tired.

Maybe I really was allowed to start again.

When we returned to Lisa’s house, she was already waiting by the window. Her face brightened instantly.

“Did you two have a good walk?” she asked.

Ezra nodded. “We did.”

“Good,” Lisa said, satisfied. “Then you’ll both sleep well. Tomorrow is a new day, Liora.”

Later, as I sank into the soft bed she’d prepared fresh sheets, warm blankets, the faint scent of lavender I realized she was right.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was running away.

I felt like I was moving forward.

And maybe, maybe I could start believing in warmth again.