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His Wife, His Mistake
Chapter Thirteen: He Let Me Down Again
POV: Arya
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I was a fool.
A complete, heartbreaking, wide-eyed fool.
Because for a moment—just one fragile moment—I started to believe he had changed.
I started to believe the man waiting outside my door every morning wasn't the same Damon who let me drown in silence four years ago. That maybe, just maybe, Lucas wouldn't grow up only knowing the absence of his father.
But then she walked in.
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Sophia.
I didn't need to be introduced. I knew who she was the second I saw her walk into that café and slide into the seat across from him like she'd never left.
Red lips. Sharp heels. That expensive kind of beauty that stung.
She looked like everything I never was.
Everything he once chose over me.
I wasn't jealous. Not now. Not anymore.
I was devastated.
Because the truth was—I had let myself hope.
And Damon crushed that hope with a single look across a table, one smile too slow to disappear.
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I didn't storm in.
I didn't cause a scene.
I just turned around and walked away.
Like I always did.
Like I had learned to do the first time he broke my heart.
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He came after me.
Of course he did.
Said all the right things: It wasn't what it looked like. She wasn't invited. I don't want her.
But I couldn't hear any of it.
Because my ears were ringing with the same silence he gave me years ago, when I needed him the most. When I needed my husband and got a stranger instead.
Now he wanted to act surprised?
Now he wanted to chase me?
He had one job—just one.
Make sure I never had to face that woman again.
And he failed.
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All the letters.
All the flowers.
All the morning books for Lucas.
Wasted.
Because Damon brought his mistress into the one place I had made my sanctuary.
Westbrook was mine.
I built this life from scratch—with raw hands and tired bones. I built this gallery to give Lucas a world of color after I'd known nothing but gray. I built my strength by forgetting Damon existed.
And now?
Now Sophia had stood on my street, smiling through my window, like none of it mattered.
Like the affair was still breathing beneath his skin.
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The pain wasn't just old — it was renewed.
Sharper than before, because this time, it hit the part of me that had dared to believe again.
The part of me that had told Lucas maybe one day, he could know his father properly.
How could I explain this to him?
How could I say, "Your dad showed up, but so did the woman he once left me for?"
How do you explain that to a child who still believes in fairy tales?
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I didn't cry in front of Lucas.
I never did.
Instead, I told him I was tired and sent him to Miriam's for a few hours.
He pouted, but he went.
Sweet boy.
Too soft-hearted.
Too trusting—just like I once was.
When the door closed behind him, I finally let myself fall apart.
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I didn't scream.
I didn't sob.
I just… folded.
Onto the floor. Onto the cold tiles of the studio I loved so much. The same place where Damon once left a note that made me hope.
Now I wished I'd burned every one of them.
I pressed my forehead to my knees and whispered to the empty air, "Why did I think he would be different?"
There was no answer.
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When I stood up again, I made a choice.
Not to forgive.
Not to forget.
But to survive.
Again.
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I told Miriam I might close the gallery for a few days. That Lucas and I might take a trip somewhere quiet. Somewhere Damon wouldn't think to follow.
She didn't ask questions.
She just hugged me and said, "Whatever you need."
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I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sophia's smirk. Damon's stunned face. Lucas's drawing in the shoebox—our little family under a secret blue tree.
That drawing felt like a lie now.
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And still… the next morning, Damon was there.
Sitting outside the gallery.
Same bench. Same look. Same silence.
I didn't open the door.
I didn't wave.
I didn't even breathe when I passed the window.
I wanted him to feel what I felt now—nothing but cold.
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He slipped another note under the door before leaving.
I didn't read it.
But I held it in my hand for a long time before dropping it into the trash.
Because if I read it, I'd remember the man I used to love.
And that man?
He died the day I saw Sophia kissing his lips, and he didn't pull away.
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Liam asked me later that night, "Why was the book man sitting outside again?"
I froze.
He looked up at me, all innocent eyes and tiny voice.
I gave him the only answer I could.
"Because sometimes people make mistakes, Liam. And sometimes… we don't have to let them keep making them."
He nodded slowly. "Is he sad?"
I swallowed. "Yes."
"Did he hurt you again?"
That one broke me.
I nodded. Just once.
Liam reached for my hand. "Then I don't want him to be my daddy today."
And somehow, that hurt even more.
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