Chasing His Divorced Wife And His Child

Chapter 13

COLIN’S POV

It doesn’t hit all at once, it sinks in slowly, somewhere I can’t reach, and the silence presses in heavier with it.

I don’t respond right away, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know how to, and that sits worse than anything else, settling deeper than I expect.

I swallow, my gaze still on her. “So that’s it?” I ask, my voice quieter than I expect, like pushing harder won’t get me anything I don’t already know.

She doesn’t hesitate.

“I meant it.”

There’s no softness or hesitation, just that, and yeah… I must have really been a piece of s**t.

A tight pull settles in my chest, slow and uncomfortable, like something I should’ve understood a long time ago finally catching up to me.

I nod slightly, more to myself than to her, because arguing with that won’t change anything.

“Okay,” I say, but it doesn’t sound like acceptance, it sounds like I’m trying to steady something that won’t stay still.

Silence stretches again, not sharp, just heavy enough to press in.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly as I try to piece together something that refuses to come together properly. “I don’t remember it ending,” I admit, my voice rougher now, “but standing here, hearing you say that… it doesn’t feel wrong.”

That’s the part I can’t ignore, I don’t remember losing her, but I feel it anyway, and when I look at her, she doesn’t say anything, just watches me with something in her expression I can’t fully read, distant and familiar at the same time, like she already knows how this goes.

Behind her, Frank stays quiet, but I’m aware of him anyway, the way he stands there like he belongs in her space, like this is normal for him.

That doesn’t sit right with me, but I don’t react to it, I just notice it.

My gaze shifts back to her. “I was there,” I say, quieter now, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. “You said I was there, so how does it feel like I wasn’t?”

Her expression doesn’t change much.

“That’s something you should figure out,” she replies.

It doesn’t help, but I get why she said it.

A quiet frustration builds, not sharp, just steady, sitting under everything else. “I’m trying,” I say, my voice tightening slightly. “But it feels like I’m missing something I shouldn’t be missing.”

“You are,” she says.

It’s simple, direct, no hesitation, and it hits harder than it should.

I nod once, slow, because arguing with that won’t get me anywhere.

Behind her, a small movement catches my attention.

Noah shifts closer to her, his hand curling into her clothes like that’s where he belongs, like that’s his place, and a tight pull settles in my chest again, not sharp, not painful, just there, steady enough to make me notice.

He looks at me, really looks, and something about it feels off in a way I can’t explain, not wrong, just unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.

I don’t understand it, and it makes it worse.

I hold his gaze for a second longer than I should, then look away, dragging my attention back to what actually matters right now.

“I’m not asking you to fix anything,” I say, quieter now, because pushing isn’t working, and I can feel that clearly. “I just don’t want to be shut out like I don’t get a say in something that clearly involved me.”

She exhales slowly, and I see it, the shift in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself together instead of reacting.

“I don’t owe you that,” she says.

Her tone isn’t sharp.

“Maybe not,” I admit, because I’m not going to stand here and pretend I have a right to something she doesn’t want to give. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to walk away like none of this matters.”

“It should,” she says quietly.

I frown slightly. “What does that mean?”

“It means you should walk away,” she replies, meeting my gaze now, steady and clear. “Because this doesn’t end in a way you’re expecting.”

A quiet tension settles in my chest.

“I’m not expecting anything,” I say. “I just know walking away now feels wrong.”

“It didn’t feel wrong before,” she says.

That sits deeper than I expect.

I don’t respond immediately, because I can’t, because that line lands somewhere I don’t have an answer for.

“I don’t remember that version of me,” I say finally, my voice lower now, more honest than anything else I’ve said tonight.

“But I do,” she replies.

Silence settles again, heavy and unmoving.

I glance at Frank again without meaning to, noticing the way he stays where he is, not stepping in, not interrupting, just… present. Like this is his place, and something about that doesn’t sit right with me, but I don’t push it, not now.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and the timing alone tells me it’s not good, so I pull it out and glance at the screen.

Max, I open the message.

“We need to talk. It’s getting messy. Your mom is already asking questions again.”

My jaw tightens slightly as it sinks in this isn’t staying contained, it was never going to, and I slip my phone back into my pocket, exhaling slowly as I look at Nadia again.

“You should leave,” she says.

There’s no hesitation this time.

I nod once, slow, because pushing right now won’t get me anything I don’t already know.

But walking away—that doesn’t sit right either.

I hold her gaze for a second longer, something steady settling in me, not loud, not dramatic, just… certain.

“I might not remember,” I say, my voice quiet but firm, “but I’m not walking away again.”

She doesn’t respond, she doesn’t have to, and I turn and walk out anyway, knowing this isn’t over.