“I’m leaving. I can’t go on with this,” I declared. I had already packed my bags.
Scott quickly grabbed my arm. “Please, Everly, think of Ella. She needs you,” he pleaded, but my decision was firm.
“She’s your daughter, Scott. Not mine,” I clarified. I knew those words were hurtful, and they worked, because Scott let go of my arm and let me go.
The silence of my small downtown apartment was a far cry from the life I’d left behind. Immersed in my work as a stylist, I sought solace in the familiarity of fabrics and designs, but the void left by Ella’s absence was profound.
Despite the pain, I missed Ella’s laughter. Meanwhile, Scott’s attempts at reconciliation were constant. However, the idea of confronting him, of rebuilding from the ashes of our marriage, seemed like an impossible challenge. I ignored him, not responding to his messages or calls. But he kept insisting.
And one morning, Scott knocked on my door. He was there with Ella, and their giggles were a bittersweet melody that softened the walls I had built around my heart.
Reluctantly, I let them into my apartment. Scott’s apologies and his…
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