I finally chose to let go. After the ink dried on the divorce papers, I packed up my life and my daughter, scrubbed our digital footprints, and moved across the Atlantic to start over in London. The decision didn't come from a single blow, but from a viral video I stumbled upon. In it, someone asked Damian what his happiest memory was from the last few years. He leaned back, a casual, almost nostalgic smile playing on his lips, and replied that it was probably last week—after he’d finally tucked Zoey into bed and managed to steal a private moment with Talia in the bathroom. The roar of laughter from the crowd in the video felt like an ice pick driven straight through my chest. For the three years he had been working "abroad," he hadn't been alone. He had been living with his first love, Talia, in a domestic bliss I could only dream of. Zoey was Talia’s daughter, and every whispered rumor I’d ignored turned out to be the sickening truth. To be honest, my heart had started to turn to ash the very day he returned to the States. I had canceled a high-stakes board meeting and driven Mandy to the airport to surprise him. When Mandy reached out her tiny hands, begging for a hug from the father she’d only seen on a screen, he didn't even bend down. He just spared me a cold, sideways glance and muttered, "Sorry, I’ve developed a bit of a germaphobia. I need a shower first." Because of that one sentence, Mandy and I spent the next few months washing our hands until they were raw. I kept the house like a sterile museum, scrubbing the floors until they shone, yet he still rarely came home. He never held her. Not once. Mandy was born while he was away. I went through labor alone and raised her alone for three long years, waiting for a man who was playing house with someone else. Our marriage had never been a fairytale. It started in the shadows of a scandal—my father, desperate to see his daughter married to the man she’d loved since she was eighteen, took advantage of Damian’s intoxication at a gala and maneuvered him into my bed. When Damian woke up the next morning, he didn’t scream or rage. He simply agreed to marry me with a face as cold as marble. 1 The nanny brought Mandy home from preschool, and her eyes were so swollen she could barely see. "Mommy... do I not have a daddy?" she sobbed, her little chest heaving with hiccups. "Daddy promised to come to the parent-teacher mixer... but when he got there, he told everyone he was Zoey’s dad." "Mommy, they all said I’m a liar. They said I don't have a father." A sharp, throbbing pain bloomed in my chest. I pulled her into my arms, my own eyes stinging. I wanted to tell her something—anything—to comfort her, but the image of Damian’s indifferent face stayed stuck in my throat. I was drowning in regret. I thought that after three years, he had finally moved past his resentment and was coming home to be a family. I didn't realize he only returned because Talia wanted to move back to the city. He’d booked the flights, arranged the penthouse, and even secured a spot for her daughter at the most prestigious preschool in the district—all while I was waiting at the airport in a dress he didn’t notice. That day at the terminal, Mandy had been so nervous. "Will Daddy like me, Mommy?" "You're his only daughter, honey," I’d told her, smoothing her hair. "Of course he will." But when we arrived, we saw Damian walking through the terminal holding Talia’s hand, his other arm cradling a three-year-old girl. He looked at me as if I were a stranger blocking his path. "Sorry," he said, his voice flat. "I need to get Talia and Zoey settled first. You two go on home." He didn't even look at Mandy. But the way he looked at Zoey—it was a tenderness I had never seen. Closing my eyes, I felt the weight of my mistakes. "I’m so sorry, Mandy. It’s my fault. Next time, Mommy will be there for everything. I promise." I washed her face and tucked her in, but even in her sleep, her brow was furrowed. "Daddy, hold me..." she whispered. Every word felt like a needle. My father had thought he was doing me a favor ten years ago. "Gwen, I can see it," he’d said back then. "You love him, and the boy has feelings for you too, he’s just too stubborn to admit it. I heard him call your name when he was drunk once. Let’s just skip the formalities and give him a reason to stay." I had protested, but then he’d locked the door, and the room had grown warm. That night, Damian had looked at me with such icy clarity when it was over. "I’ll do the right thing, Gwen. I’ll marry you." I thought I could win him over. Then, at a party months later, I overheard him talking to his friends. "Come on, Damian," one of them said. "Gwen is gorgeous, she’s brilliant, and she’s obsessed with you. Just enjoy it." Damian took a long drag of his cigarette, his lip curling. "I actually liked her once. But I never realized she was that desperate. Thinking about how she threw herself at me that night... it’s honestly pathetic. It’s repulsive." I never got the chance to explain. Two weeks later, he filed for a long-term overseas assignment. He left me with a ring and a secret—I was pregnant. I raised Mandy in a quiet, empty mansion, counting the days until he’d return. And he did. But not to us. The house was silent when the front door finally clicked open at midnight. Damian walked in, his eyes skipping over the sleeping form of his daughter on the couch. "Zoey wants to come over to play tomorrow," he said casually, as if he were discussing the weather. "You and Mandy should head out for the day. Take her to the zoo or something." I looked at him, stunned. He actually smiled—a small, cruel twist of the lips. "Zoey’s very territorial. She’s not comfortable seeing other little girls call me 'Dad'." 2 The anger that had been simmering in my gut finally boiled over. I let out a sharp, dry laugh. "Damian, do you even remember which child is actually yours?" "Do you have any idea what happened to Mandy at school today because you—" He cut me off with a frown. "Gwen, I don't need a lecture." "I know the mixer was today. I’m sorry, but Talia is a single mother now, and she’s overwhelmed. Zoey needed me there." "Besides, I made a promise to Talia long before I ever married you. I swore I’d never let her down again. I’ve given you the marriage you wanted. You don't get to tell me who I can care for. I owe them." He threw his blazer on the chair and headed for the master bath. The sound of the shower drowned out the sob I couldn't hold back. If I had known that being his wife meant being a ghost in my own home, I would have fought my father tooth and nail that night. I looked at the divorce decree I’d been drafting on my laptop. If it weren't for Mandy, I would have left years ago. But I had been selfish—I wanted her to have a father. I didn't realize that a father who was physically present but emotionally absent was a far worse poison. The next morning, Mandy woke up and forgot her heartbreak the moment she heard her dad was home. She jumped on her bed, clutching a drawing she’d spent a week on. "I have to show Daddy!" Kids are resilient, or maybe just tragically hopeful. She ran downstairs, only to find Talia and Zoey already in the kitchen. Damian was sitting at the island, peeling an orange for Zoey with a look of pure patience. "Daddy? Who are they?" Mandy asked, stopping short. Damian’s face darkened. "Why are you still here? I thought I told your mother to take you out." Mandy shrank back, but she still held out her drawing—a colorful depiction of the three of us. "It’s a family portrait... I made it for when you came home." Before Damian could reach for it, a small hand snatched it away. "This is ugly!" Zoey shouted, tearing the paper in half. She shoved Mandy hard, sending her tumbling to the hardwood floor. "He’s my daddy! Everyone at school says you’re a nobody, Mandy. You’re not allowed to call him that!" Mandy burst into tears. I rushed over, pulling her up and staring down at Zoey. "Apologize. Now." Damian stood up, his jaw set. "Gwen, don't scream at a child." He picked Zoey up and tucked her against his chest. "I told you last night, she’s sensitive about this. She’s just upset. She didn't mean to push her." I didn't budge. "Did you not hear what she just called Mandy? She called her a bastard, Damian. Are you going to tell her the truth, or are you just going to let her bully your own daughter in her own house?" Damian hesitated, but then he just rubbed Zoey’s back. He wouldn't look at me. Talia stepped forward, wearing a soft, practiced smile. "Gwen, I am so sorry. Zoey spent her formative years in Europe; she’s very blunt. She doesn't mean anything by it. Please don't take it to heart." The little girl in Damian's arms looked at us with a smug, triumphant grin. "I’m not lying! The kids at school said it! Mandy is a mistake! She stole my daddy!" I looked at Damian. I had tolerated his "germaphobia." I had tolerated his long absences and the obvious lies about working late. But I would not tolerate this. "Damian, I’m going to ask you one last time. Is Mandy your daughter, or isn't she?" He let out a cold, sharp laugh. "You really want to talk about how she became my daughter? Do you really want to revisit that 'miracle' of a night?" "Enough. Today is about Zoey. Let's not ruin it with your drama." Talia and her daughter exchanged a look of pure satisfaction. Damian kissed Zoey’s cheek. "How about we go get that Elsa dress you wanted? And some new toys?" "Yes! And the castle!" "Anything you want," he murmured. As they walked toward the door, something inside me finally snapped. The love I’d carried for ten years didn't just break; it evaporated. "Damian," I called out, my voice strangely calm. "I want a divorce." 3 Damian paused at the door, turning back with an arrogant sneer. "Gwen, haven't we played this game enough? If you think threatening me is going to work, then fine. Have it your way. Get the papers ready." He didn't wait for a response. He walked out, the heavy oak door thudding shut behind him. Talia lingered for a second, a flicker of a smile crossing her face before she masked it with "concern." She walked back to me, holding out her phone. "I’m so sorry, Gwen. Damian and I... we’re just friends. He’s just such a loyal man. He knows how hard it is for me after my divorce, and he just wants to help. Please don't let this ruin your marriage." She insisted on adding my contact info, claiming she wanted to "reimburse" Mandy for the ruined drawing. "Talia, come on!" Damian’s voice called from the driveway, soft and melodic. "Coming!" she chirped, running out to join them. Through the open window, I heard her voice drifting back. "Damian, you shouldn't have said that. Gwen was just upset. You know she didn't mean it." Damian’s reply was loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "She worked too hard to trap me into this marriage to ever actually leave. She’s just throwing a tantrum because I’m giving Zoey attention. Trust me, she’ll be begging me to come home by dinner." I leaned against the kitchen counter and laughed. It was a hollow, jagged sound. The Gwen who loved you is dead, Damian. And the mother who is left has work to do. Mandy cried herself to sleep in her room. "Mommy, the kids said he’s Zoey’s daddy... but I wasn't trying to take him away..." I stayed awake. My phone buzzed. Talia had posted a photo on Instagram: the three of them at a toy store, looking like a perfect, sun-drenched family. The caption read: Zoey finally has the father figure she deserves. Some things are just meant to be. I "liked" the post. Seconds later, a DM arrived from Talia. It was a video file. I opened it. It was from a few months ago, back when Damian was still "working" overseas. In the video, a friend asked him, "Damian, what’s the best part of being back with Talia?" He was nursing a glass of scotch, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. "Probably the quiet moments," he said, his eyes dark with something like lust. "Last week, after we finally got the kid to sleep, I pulled Talia into the bathroom for an hour. Best hour of the trip." The room spun. Talia’s caption on an old post flashed in my mind: Since having a kid, private time is hard to find. We have to sneak around when she’s asleep... My phone buzzed again. Another message from Talia: Oh my god, I am SO sorry! I meant to send that to someone else. I can’t believe I sent that to you. Please ignore it! But honestly, Gwen... you know where his heart is. You forced this marriage with a cheap trick, but he spent three years choosing us every single day. He might not be Zoey’s biological father, but he loves her more than he could ever love a child he was 'forced' to have. You have money, you have status—don't make this harder than it needs to be. Just walk away. She followed it with a photo of Damian kissing Zoey on one cheek and Talia on the other. A perfect portrait of a family that didn't include me. I typed back two words: You’re right. Then, I called my father. "Dad, I’ve made a decision. I’m taking Mandy and moving to London. We leave in three days." My father sounded shocked. "Three days? But I heard Damian just got back. You finally have your family together. Does he know?" I looked at the torn drawing on the floor. "He’ll be thrilled." 4 For the first time in our marriage, I didn't stay up waiting for him. When he stumbled in at 2:00 AM, the house was pitch black. No porch light, no warm meal in the oven. For the next three days, I was a ghost. I didn't speak to him. I didn't ask where he was going. I just packed. Sensing something was off, Damian came home on the third evening with a Tiffany box. "Gwen," he said, sounding almost sheepish. "I know things have been tense. Zoey was out of line the other day. I’m sorry." He opened the box to reveal a necklace—a heart pendant that was clearly from an older collection. I recognized it immediately. Talia had posted it on her "sell" story months ago, calling it "outdated junk." He tried to step closer to put it on me. I stepped back. "Don't bother." I walked past him, wearing a sharp, tailored blazer. I was heading out to finalize the sale of my car. He stared at me, his eyes lingering on my outfit. "You... you look different today. Where are you going? I’ll drive you." He was being uncharacteristically attentive. It was pathetic. For three years, I’d worn the soft, feminine dresses he liked. I’d played the part of the doting, waiting wife. But in his absence, I’d built a multi-million dollar tech firm. I’d handled lawsuits, boardrooms, and plumbing emergencies. I didn't need a driver. "I’m fine," I said. "I’m a better driver than you anyway." I was actually going to the consulate to finalize the paperwork for our relocation. Three hours later, as I walked out of the government building with Mandy, I saw Damian’s car idling at the curb. He looked frantic. "Gwen, what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, jumping out of the car. He’d followed me. "You’ve been in there for three hours." I smiled, a cold, empty thing. "Just updating some records. Our IDs were expiring." "Don't you have a job? I heard Talia was looking for a personal assistant. Maybe you should go help her." Damian flinched, his expression darkening. "Fine. You want to push me away? Go ahead. I was trying to be nice, but you’re making it impossible." He slammed his car door so hard the frame rattled and sped off. Later that afternoon, his assistant, Marcus, called me. "Ma'am, Mr. Sterling actually cleared his entire schedule today to spend time with you and Mandy. Why did you upset him? He’s at a bar right now, drinking himself into a stupor before heading over to Talia’s place..." Marcus had always tried to play peacemaker. I almost felt sorry for him. "Thanks for the update, Marcus," I said. "But let him go. He’s exactly where he wants to be." I had two days left. But I didn't make it to the flight without one last nightmare. On the day I went to pick up Mandy’s final school records, Zoey pushed her into the decorative fountain at the school plaza. Mandy hit her head and went into a localized seizure—a complication from an undiagnosed condition. I was screaming, cradling my daughter’s limp, wet body as the ambulance arrived. At the hospital, the ER was in chaos. I was told that a "VIP" had redirected the city’s top pediatric neurologists to another wing for an emergency allergy consult. Damian had moved heaven and earth for Zoey’s hives while his own daughter was fighting for air. I called Damian, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. "Damian, please. Mandy is in the ER. She needs a specialist. You have the connections—please, help her!" On the other end, I could hear Talia sobbing about "rashes." Damian’s voice came through, cold and mocking. "Gwen, enough with the pathetic stunts. Mandy is fine. She was fine this morning." "I tried to spend the day with you and you kicked me out. Now Zoey is having a real medical crisis, and you’re trying to fake an emergency to get attention? You’re sick." "Damian, I’m not lying! She’s—" Click. The dial tone was the loudest sound I’d ever heard. I felt the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I looked at Mandy. She was awake now, hooked up to an oxygen mask, her eyes too old for her face. She didn't cry. She just reached out and wiped a tear from my cheek with a weak, pale hand. "Mommy... Daddy really doesn't want me, does he?" She smiled, a heartbreakingly sad expression. "It’s okay, Mommy. I don't want him either." I called my father. Within thirty minutes, a specialist was flown in from a neighboring state. Damian never showed up. That night, the local news ran a segment on "The Heroic Father," praising Damian Sterling for mobilizing the city's medical resources to save a child from a "life-threatening" allergic reaction. They showed a clip of him looking "devastated" in the waiting room. I stared at the screen, at the man I had loved for a decade. You win, Damian. You can have them. The day Mandy was discharged, we went straight to the airport. I shredded my SIM card, left the keys to the mansion in a locker, and boarded a one-way flight to London.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "452027", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel