Chasing His Divorced Wife And His Child

Chapter 16

NADIA’S POV

Something feels off, not loud or obvious, just there, sitting under everything like a weight I can’t shake, and I try to ignore it, I really do, because I’ve worked too damn hard to build something stable, something quiet, something that doesn’t feel like it’s about to fall apart every second.

But it doesn’t go away.

It follows me through the day, through the gallery, through conversations that should feel normal but don’t, because there’s this edge now, this strange pause in people’s voices, like they’re thinking twice before speaking, like they’re choosing their words too carefully and I hate that feeling.

I’m behind the counter when the first call comes in.

“Good afternoon, this is Nadia,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though something in my chest already tightens.

There’s a pause, longer than it should be.

Then a woman’s voice comes through, polite, smooth, the kind that sounds harmless if you’re not paying attention.

“Yes, hello, I was calling to ask about your gallery operations,” she says, casual, almost bored, like this is nothing.

My grip tightens slightly on the phone.

“What exactly would you like to know?” I ask, keeping it professional, even as something sharp settles under my skin.

Another pause, longer this time.

Then, “Oh, just general information… how long you’ve been running it, your schedule, that sort of thing.”

It’s normal, it should be, but it doesn’t feel like it.

“We’ve been open for a few years now,” I say carefully, choosing my words slower than usual, like I’m testing each one before letting it out. “If you’re interested in visiting, I can give you our hours.”

A soft hum on the other end.

“Right… and do you work alone?”

That’s not a normal question.

Something in my chest tightens a little more.

“I manage the space,” I reply, keeping it neutral, even though my instincts are already screaming at me to shut this down. “If there’s anything specific you need, you can come in during business hours.”

There’s a slight shift in her tone, subtle, almost unnoticeable.

“I see.”

Silence stretches for a second, and I can feel it now, that quiet pressure, like I’m being looked at without actually being seen.

Then she says, “And your family? Do they help out as well?”

My stomach drops, not hard or sharp, just enough to make it uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice a little cooler now, “but I don’t discuss personal matters over the phone.”

Another pause, longer this time, then a soft, almost amused breath.

“Of course,” she says lightly. “That makes sense.”

Something about the way she says it—It doesn’t sit right.

“Is there anything else?” I ask, already done with this conversation.

“No,” she replies, still calm, still polite. “That’ll be all for now.”

For now.

The line clicks dead.

I lower the phone slowly, staring at it for a second longer than I should, like it might explain something if I just wait.

“What the hell was that?” I mutter under my breath, my fingers tightening slightly around the receiver.

It should’ve been nothing, just a call, just a random question, but it wasn’t, I know it wasn’t, and that feeling doesn’t leave.

*****

By the time the second call comes in, I’m already on edge. I don’t even realize it until I answer too quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Nadia?”

Different voice this time, male, but the same careful, measured tone.

“Yes,” I reply slowly, my chest tightening again.

“I was referred to your gallery,” he says. “I wanted to ask a few questions.”

“What kind of questions?” I ask, already bracing myself.

There’s a slight pause.

Then, “Just general things… your background, how long you’ve been in the business.”

I let out a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to relax even though my body is doing the exact opposite.

“We focus on local artists,” I say instead, deliberately avoiding what he actually asked. “If you’re interested in—”

“And you live nearby?” he cuts in.

That does it.

My patience snaps just enough to make my voice sharper than before.

“I’m not sure what you’re actually looking for,” I say, my grip tightening on the phone, “but if this isn’t about the gallery, then this conversation is over.”

There’s a brief silence, then a small chuckle, not loud or friendly, just knowing.

“Right,” he says. “Understood.”

The line goes dead again.

I stare at the phone, my heart beating just a little faster now, and I hate it, I hate how this is starting to feel like something bigger than it should be.

“s**t,” I whisper, dragging a hand through my hair.

This isn’t random, it can’t be.

I lock up earlier than usual.

I tell myself it’s just precaution, just me being careful, but the truth is I don’t like this, I don’t like not knowing, I don’t like feeling like something is circling me without actually showing itself.

By the time I get home, my chest feels tight in a way I can’t fully explain.

The door clicks shut behind me, and for a second, I just stand there, letting the silence settle around me.

I should feel safe, but I don’t, not completely.

“Noah?” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady as I step in.

He answers right away, his small voice soft and bright from just a few steps away, like he’s been waiting for me.

“Mommy!”

That helps a little.

I walk toward him, and the second I see him sitting there, completely relaxed and untouched by whatever the hell is happening outside, something in me steadies.

He looks up at me, smiling, and I crouch slightly, brushing my fingers through his hair without thinking.

“You’re okay, right?” I murmur softly, even though I already know the answer, my hand brushing through his hair.

He doesn’t answer with words, just looks up at me and smiles, small and easy, like he understands something even if he can’t say it.

He should be and I’m going to keep it that way, no matter what.

I straighten slowly, exhaling under my breath, trying to push everything else aside, trying to keep this moment normal, because that’s what matters.

That’s the only thing that matters.

My phone buzzes.

I freeze, just for a second.

Then I reach for it, my fingers tightening slightly as I glance at the screen.

Unknown number.

Part of me wants to ignore it, pretend it’s nothing, but something in my chest tells me I shouldn’t, so I answer anyway.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause, then a voice, calm and polished, familiar in a way that makes my stomach drop before my brain even catches up.

“Yes,” the woman says smoothly. “I believe we haven’t been properly introduced.”

My grip tightens on the phone.

“I’m calling about your son.”

Everything in me goes still.