To get away from Quentin and Brad, I had to move.I packed up and relocated to Avaport, the capital city, ditched my old phone number, and finally got some peace. No more interruptions. Just calm, quiet days that felt like a breath of fresh air.Time flew.A few days before my exams, I made the mistake of heading back to Caytonville. And who's the first person I run into? Quentin. Of course.He looked terrible—pale, exhausted. "You're finally back," he said.I sighed. If I'd known he was lurking around, I would've booked a hotel."I've been waiting for you here every day. Mabel, you don't have to keep avoiding me."I let out a cold laugh. "Quentin, you don't have to keep clinging to me either."He pulled out a cigarette, but not lighting it. "I regret everything. Since you left, I haven't had a single decent night of sleep."We've gone through chef after chef, maid after maid. None of them are right. Brad hates them. I hate them."A few days ago, I got sick—acute gastritis. T
I opened the door and shoved Brad outside before he could say a word.He immediately started wailing—loud, pitiful.Mr. Payne looked at me, baffled. "You might not like his dad, but he's still your son!""He has a stepmother."That shut him up fast.Brad, though? He didn't leave. He just plopped down by the door, bawling and calling my name.Annoyed, I yanked the door open again and snapped, "Is this how your grandfather taught you to act? Brad Lambert, where are your manners?"He only cried harder, hiccuping between sobs, his face a mess of tears.I shot a glare at the bodyguards hovering nearby. "Take him back, or I'm calling security."With that, I slammed the door and walked away.Later, Mr. Payne brought me a bowl of soup, his smile softening the tension. "He's just a kid. Don't be so hard on him."I took a sip and shrugged. "He doesn't like me. He'd rather be with his stepmother."After that, we ate in silence. Mr. Payne didn't mention my family again....That even
"Quentin, that's your problem."I tried to step past him, only for him to grab my arm again."Brad can't let you go either!""Then get him a new stepmother!" I snapped. "Shonda seems perfect!"His lips parted, stunned for a second before he latched onto the idea like a lifeline. "So, you're leaving... because of Shonda?""Mabel," he stammered, scrambling for words. "There's nothing between us. We were never together. We're just old classmates. When I said I had someone in my heart back then, I wasn't talking about her. I just didn't want to follow my mother's orders so easily."And Shonda teaching Brad? She called me after her family went bankrupt, asking for a part-time job. That's it—""Enough!" I cut him off.I didn't want to hear more. Excuses, justifications—they didn't matter. Whatever we'd had couldn't be fixed with words. My feelings for him hadn't vanished overnight, but they were gone all the same."Quentin, shamelessness doesn't suit you. I'm moving on. You should t
Quentin's Epilogue:When Mabel first mentioned divorce, I thought it was just talk. A threat, maybe. Something she'd never follow through on.I was wrong.During the proceedings, I couldn't stop myself from calling her name at dinner. On so many nights, I caught myself asking for her to bring me a glass of water—only to remember she wasn't there.In the end, I was alone.That was when it hit me: Mabel wasn't just in my life—she was my life. But my pride refused to let me admit it.Even at the lawyer's office, I asked her one last time if she was sure.She didn't hesitate.Her resolve cut deeper than anything I'd expected.After she left, I buried myself in work, trying to smother the emptiness. It didn't help.Brad and I had depended on her for so much, but we didn't even realize it until she was gone. By then, it was too late.When I heard she'd remarried, I spiraled. Drank for three days straight until I ended up in the hospital.And when I found out she had children? The
"Brad is only five, Mabel," Quentin said, casting a cold glance at me. "You think a kid can be happy without his mom?"I thought back to five years of Brad acting like I was an extra in his life, not his mother.I sighed. "He's got you. That's enough."Quentin closed his laptop, his fingers drumming the desk—a telltale sign of his irritation."Why are you suddenly bringing up divorce?" he asked.Then, like a lightbulb moment, he added, "Wait... is this about the soup being salty yesterday?"Mabel, people's tastes change. If I offended you, I'm sorry, okay? I've just been slammed lately. It's not like I've had the energy to think about your feelings—""I get it," I cut him off. My voice was flat, my face even flatter.I didn't care anymore."The papers are ready," I added. "You just have to sign. Shouldn't take long."No house. No money. No custody battle. Clean and simple."Mabel," Quentin said, softer now. His brows pulled together. "I wasn't blaming you. I meant my apology
After Quentin signed the divorce papers, I headed to the bedroom to pack, keeping it quick and quiet.He leaned against the doorframe, acting way too casual for the moment. "It's still raining. You could wait until it stops. I mean, we're not technically divorced yet."I shook my head. "Signing means it's over. Better to leave now." Dragging this out would just make it messier."Suit yourself," he snapped, cold again, and walked off.On my way out, I glanced at Brad, practicing piano. His eyes flicked to mine for a second, then away, as blank and detached as ever. I'd gotten used to it.By the time I reached the door, Shonda Lace appeared—looking exactly how you'd picture the 'one that got away.'Shonda, Brad's physics tutor and Quentin's long-lost dream girl. Back in college, they were the "it" couple—him, the heartthrob; her, the queen bee. Everyone thought they were endgame, but she went abroad, and he stuck around to inherit the family empire.Somehow, I ended up as his wife
After leaving the Lambert house, I headed back to my tiny old apartment—the place that actually felt like mine.I cleaned up a bit, booked a flight to Leavora for an AI exhibition.Back in college, I'd been all about robotics and drones, pouring my soul into it. But then I graduated, married Quentin, and—poof—my passion got shelved.Now, divorced and free? It was like breathing fresh air for the first time in forever.The vibe didn't last long. The second I landed, Quentin called."Mabel, can you come by?"I checked my watch and answered as calmly as I could. "I can't."A pause. Then he tried again, sounding almost... helpless. "The power's out. It's just me and Brad, and I don't know how to fix it or who to call."Quentin had always hated having strangers in the house, so everything—from flickering lights to clogged sinks—had always been my problem."Mabel?" He said my name again.I sighed, scrolled through my contacts, and texted him the number of a repair guy. "Call him."
When I was young, my dad passed away, leaving my mom to juggle raising me and my younger brother on her own. She worked nonstop, but honestly? So did I.Even as a kid, I noticed the favoritism. The best food, drinks—anything remotely "good"—always went to my brother first. Mom made it crystal clear: "You need to work hard and make money to pay for your brother's tuition."The irony? He couldn't care less about school. He skipped classes like it was a sport and tanked every exam. Meanwhile, I busted my butt to be a star student, always topping my class.When I got into college, Mom got sick and told me to drop out so I could work full-time and support the family. I refused, juggling three jobs while staying in school to prove her wrong.And my brother? He sat around mocking me or begging for cash, which he immediately blew on bars and parties.Mom always had his back: "He's young! Let him enjoy life! Don't stifle his personality!"Then he got scammed and racked up over a hundred g
Quentin's Epilogue:When Mabel first mentioned divorce, I thought it was just talk. A threat, maybe. Something she'd never follow through on.I was wrong.During the proceedings, I couldn't stop myself from calling her name at dinner. On so many nights, I caught myself asking for her to bring me a glass of water—only to remember she wasn't there.In the end, I was alone.That was when it hit me: Mabel wasn't just in my life—she was my life. But my pride refused to let me admit it.Even at the lawyer's office, I asked her one last time if she was sure.She didn't hesitate.Her resolve cut deeper than anything I'd expected.After she left, I buried myself in work, trying to smother the emptiness. It didn't help.Brad and I had depended on her for so much, but we didn't even realize it until she was gone. By then, it was too late.When I heard she'd remarried, I spiraled. Drank for three days straight until I ended up in the hospital.And when I found out she had children? The
"Quentin, that's your problem."I tried to step past him, only for him to grab my arm again."Brad can't let you go either!""Then get him a new stepmother!" I snapped. "Shonda seems perfect!"His lips parted, stunned for a second before he latched onto the idea like a lifeline. "So, you're leaving... because of Shonda?""Mabel," he stammered, scrambling for words. "There's nothing between us. We were never together. We're just old classmates. When I said I had someone in my heart back then, I wasn't talking about her. I just didn't want to follow my mother's orders so easily."And Shonda teaching Brad? She called me after her family went bankrupt, asking for a part-time job. That's it—""Enough!" I cut him off.I didn't want to hear more. Excuses, justifications—they didn't matter. Whatever we'd had couldn't be fixed with words. My feelings for him hadn't vanished overnight, but they were gone all the same."Quentin, shamelessness doesn't suit you. I'm moving on. You should t
I opened the door and shoved Brad outside before he could say a word.He immediately started wailing—loud, pitiful.Mr. Payne looked at me, baffled. "You might not like his dad, but he's still your son!""He has a stepmother."That shut him up fast.Brad, though? He didn't leave. He just plopped down by the door, bawling and calling my name.Annoyed, I yanked the door open again and snapped, "Is this how your grandfather taught you to act? Brad Lambert, where are your manners?"He only cried harder, hiccuping between sobs, his face a mess of tears.I shot a glare at the bodyguards hovering nearby. "Take him back, or I'm calling security."With that, I slammed the door and walked away.Later, Mr. Payne brought me a bowl of soup, his smile softening the tension. "He's just a kid. Don't be so hard on him."I took a sip and shrugged. "He doesn't like me. He'd rather be with his stepmother."After that, we ate in silence. Mr. Payne didn't mention my family again....That even
To get away from Quentin and Brad, I had to move.I packed up and relocated to Avaport, the capital city, ditched my old phone number, and finally got some peace. No more interruptions. Just calm, quiet days that felt like a breath of fresh air.Time flew.A few days before my exams, I made the mistake of heading back to Caytonville. And who's the first person I run into? Quentin. Of course.He looked terrible—pale, exhausted. "You're finally back," he said.I sighed. If I'd known he was lurking around, I would've booked a hotel."I've been waiting for you here every day. Mabel, you don't have to keep avoiding me."I let out a cold laugh. "Quentin, you don't have to keep clinging to me either."He pulled out a cigarette, but not lighting it. "I regret everything. Since you left, I haven't had a single decent night of sleep."We've gone through chef after chef, maid after maid. None of them are right. Brad hates them. I hate them."A few days ago, I got sick—acute gastritis. T
Studying for exams, my life became simple and chill: mornings in the library or study room, fishing by the river with Mr. Payne, and occasionally grabbing drinks with friends who actually got me. My days were straightforward, no drama.Except for the flowers.Every morning, without fail, a fresh bouquet showed up at my door.Quentin, obviously.And as if that wasn't enough, he started showing up every evening after work too.By the fifth time, I lost it. "Quentin! Don't you have anything better to do?"When Quentin and I were still married, we barely spoke. Meals and bedtime? Quiet. Conversations? Nonexistent—unless you count trivial updates about Brad's day.Quentin took off his sunglasses, looking tired. "I'm not trying to bother you. I just... I really want to see you."Then, out comes this container of soup, because apparently, I looked like I needed "rebuilding." "You've lost weight recently," he added.I shut it down fast. "Stop coming around unless it's actually importa
I'd just reached the entrance of my apartment complex when Quentin rolled down his car window."Congrats! Mind if I come up for a bit?"The last time I'd seen him was during the competition—at the lawyer's office, no less. Back then, he'd casually thrown out, "Are you really going through with the divorce?"I didn't bother answering. Just walked into the building without looking back. He said nothing further, and not long after, the divorce was final.Now, looking at this slightly drunk version of Quentin, I kept my voice cold. "No, it's not convenient."I turned to leave. A man and woman alone in an apartment? Yeah, no thanks.He stumbled out of the car and followed me anyway. "If it's inconvenient at home, how about dinner?""Sorry, I'm busy," I said, brushing him off again.I thought he'd finally take the hint, but nope. He kept trailing behind."Brad called out for you in his sleep last night," he said.I paused for a split second, then kept walking. "That has nothing to
It was way past midnight when I got home, but I wasn't even close to tired. I grabbed a notebook from my suitcase and started sketching the transforming robot I'd been dreaming up.Barely got a few lines down when my phone rang—Quentin, again, now using some random new number."I just got Brad to sleep," he said, like this was small talk. "Is he always this hard to settle?"I rolled my eyes. "You seriously called me for that?"Silence. Then I heard the flick of a lighter. Oh, great. He was smoking—again. These days, he only lit up when he was spiraling."It's not just that," he said finally. "All my flowers are dead. I even changed the water. No idea what went wrong."This man. His whole aesthetic was perfect to a fault. Fresh flowers every day, a backyard garden that looked like a magazine spread—and guess who used to keep it all alive?"The garden plants are dying too," he added.I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache creeping in. "Quentin Lambert, hire a freaking florist an
When I was young, my dad passed away, leaving my mom to juggle raising me and my younger brother on her own. She worked nonstop, but honestly? So did I.Even as a kid, I noticed the favoritism. The best food, drinks—anything remotely "good"—always went to my brother first. Mom made it crystal clear: "You need to work hard and make money to pay for your brother's tuition."The irony? He couldn't care less about school. He skipped classes like it was a sport and tanked every exam. Meanwhile, I busted my butt to be a star student, always topping my class.When I got into college, Mom got sick and told me to drop out so I could work full-time and support the family. I refused, juggling three jobs while staying in school to prove her wrong.And my brother? He sat around mocking me or begging for cash, which he immediately blew on bars and parties.Mom always had his back: "He's young! Let him enjoy life! Don't stifle his personality!"Then he got scammed and racked up over a hundred g
After leaving the Lambert house, I headed back to my tiny old apartment—the place that actually felt like mine.I cleaned up a bit, booked a flight to Leavora for an AI exhibition.Back in college, I'd been all about robotics and drones, pouring my soul into it. But then I graduated, married Quentin, and—poof—my passion got shelved.Now, divorced and free? It was like breathing fresh air for the first time in forever.The vibe didn't last long. The second I landed, Quentin called."Mabel, can you come by?"I checked my watch and answered as calmly as I could. "I can't."A pause. Then he tried again, sounding almost... helpless. "The power's out. It's just me and Brad, and I don't know how to fix it or who to call."Quentin had always hated having strangers in the house, so everything—from flickering lights to clogged sinks—had always been my problem."Mabel?" He said my name again.I sighed, scrolled through my contacts, and texted him the number of a repair guy. "Call him."