Chasing His Divorced Wife And His Child

Chapter 12

NADIA’S POV

The door closes behind him, and even though it’s not loud, it leaves something heavy in the room that I can’t ignore, and I stay where I am.

It lingers under my skin, everything he said and everything he didn’t, and I hate how easily it all came back, damn it.

I let out a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed, forcing myself back into control before I turn.

Colin is still there.

Something tight pulls in my chest when our eyes meet, because he’s looking at me like he’s trying to figure me out, like there’s something in front of him he knows matters but can’t understand.

And that’s exactly how it used to be.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you involved,” I say, keeping my voice even even though something underneath it feels anything but.

He doesn’t respond immediately.

His gaze stays on me, steady, searching, and it presses in more than anything he could say.

“We’re not done,” he says finally, and there’s something quieter in it now, but heavier too.

My jaw tightens slightly, of course he’d say that.

“Yes, we are,” I reply, because dragging this out isn’t going to fix anything, it’s just going to make it worse.

“That’s not your decision to make alone,” he says, and there’s no anger in it, which somehow makes it harder to push back.

A quiet frustration builds, slow and sharp. “It is when it’s my life,” I tell him, holding his gaze now, because I’m not stepping back from this. “You don’t get to walk in here and decide you’re part of something you already walked away from.”

“I didn’t walk away,” he says, his voice tightening slightly.

A tight pull settles in my chest.

“You did,” I reply, and this time there’s no softening it. “You just don’t remember it.”

It sits between us.

He drags a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to hold onto something that keeps slipping. “Then stop saying that like it’s enough,” he says, frustration breaking through. “Because it’s not, not when I don’t know what I did.”

I inhale slowly, steadying myself, because this is exactly where it starts going wrong.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I say, quieter now, but firm. “Not like this.”

“Then how?” he asks, stepping closer without thinking, his voice lower now but more urgent. “Because standing here knowing I messed something up and you won’t even tell me what it is—how is that supposed to work?”

My chest tightens, not sharp, just heavy, like something I already buried is being dragged back up.

“It’s not supposed to work,” I say.

He stops, actually stops, and for a second I see it, the shift, the realization.

“What does that mean?” he asks, quieter now.

I shake my head slightly, because I don’t even know where to start without saying too much.

“It means we’re not trying to fix anything,” I tell him. “There’s nothing here to fix anymore.”

“That’s not true,” he says immediately, and there’s something in it now, something real that wasn’t there before.

It would’ve mattered once, but not now.

“It is,” I reply, keeping my voice steady, because if I let it slip even a little, this gets messy. “You just don’t want it to be.”

Silence stretches again, heavier this time.

Behind me, I can feel Frank shift slightly like he’s ready to step in if this goes too far, but he doesn’t interrupt, and Colin’s focus doesn’t leave me.

“I’m trying,” he says, quieter now, like he’s choosing his words more carefully. “I don’t remember what happened, but I’m here now, and I’m not walking away again.”

That word hits again, and a tight pull settles in my chest.

“You don’t get to decide that now,” I say, and this time there’s something sharper under it. “You don’t get to come back when it’s convenient and act like you’re fixing something you didn’t even see breaking.”

“I didn’t know,” he says.

I let out a breath, short and tired.

“That’s the problem,” I reply, and I don’t raise my voice, but it still lands.

He goes quiet, for a second, it looks like he’s actually hearing me.

“I would’ve done something if I knew,” he says after a moment, and there’s no defense in it now, just something rough and honest.

That pulls at a part of me I don’t want touched.

“But you didn’t,” It comes out softer than I expect, but it still carries weight.

“You were there,” I continue, holding his gaze now, because if this is happening, then it’s happening properly. “You were right there, and you still didn’t see anything.”

His jaw tightens.

“I’m not that person now,” he says, quieter, like he’s trying to separate himself from something he doesn’t fully understand.

A small, tired smile almost pulls at my lips.

“That doesn’t change who you were,” I say.

Silence settles again, not sharp or tense, just heavy, like everything that needed to be said is finally out, even if it’s not everything.

I exhale slowly, letting the weight settle where it belongs.

“You should go,” I say, my voice calm now, steady in a way that doesn’t leave room for argument.

He doesn’t move right away.

His eyes stay on me, like he’s still trying to find something to hold onto.

“There’s more to this,” he says quietly.

“There always is,” that doesn’t mean I’m giving it to him, and the pause that follows only makes it heavier.

Then he nods slightly, like he’s not agreeing, just… accepting that this isn’t going to go his way right now.

I hold my ground because I have to, I already know what happens if I don’t, and when I finally speak again, my voice almost breaks, but I steady it as I say, “It was over the day I signed the divorce papers.”