Time flew by.
In just a few days, I had already adapted to my new life here.
The brilliant sunshine seemed capable of healing almost any wound.
I found a job arranging flowers at a small shop on the corner.
The pay wasn’t great, but I was happy.
Every day I was surrounded by blooms and smiling faces.
Gradually, the shop owner, Delilah, and I became good friends.
During our free time, we’d go shopping or grab dinner together. I’d bring her homemade pastries and bread.
Whether I brought her homemade lasagna or my specialty herb–roasted chicken, Delilah would rave about every bite.
She looked at me with astonishment.
“From the moment I met you, I could tell you were special. But you continue to surprise me,” she said.
“What I don’t understand is why someone as talented as you would work in my little flower shop?”
I adjusted the flower stems in front of me and smiled wistfully.
“Because you don’t look down on me.”
You didn’t criticize my flower arrangements as tacky or unworthy of her home’s decor.
You didn’t complain that my cooking was terrible or didn’t suit her family’s taste.
Every bit of my labor, every ounce of effort I put in was appreciated.
Here, I was gradually discovering my own worth.
Delilah believed I shouldn’t waste my talents in her small flower shop and encouraged me to push forward.
With her help, I enrolled in a university, planning to continue my education abroad.
Between work and studies, my schedule became so packed that I had no time to dwell on the past.
So when Hunter suddenly appeared before me, I was disoriented for a good three seconds.
After asking Delilah for some time off, Iled Hunter to the coffee shop next door.
Hunter sat in silence for a long while before speaking incredulously.
“You gave up being Mrs. Mitchell to work in a flower shop?”
“If you loved flowers so much, why didn’t you say something? One word from you, and I could have opened ten flower shops for you!”
Chapter 7
The mighty Hunter Mitchell certainly had the resources to do that.
But in eight years of marriage, I’d never received a single flower from hitn.
Sometimes I’d see young women on the street clutching bouquets, and I couldn’t help but feel envious.
I’d hinted at it a few times, only to be met with Hunter’s coldness and mockery.
In that house, no one had cared about my thoughts or feelings.
“If you came all this way just to tell me this, then I think we have nothing more to discuss,” I said firmly.
Hunter hesitated for a moment.
He swallowed whatever criticism he was about to deliver and adopted a gentler tone.
“Brooke, I don’t want a divorce.”
“Ryan has been sick for a long time, and Maya keeps crying for you to come back.”
“I know what they did to you–I know everything now. I’ve disciplined them for it. I’m asking you to give the kids another
chance.”
I smiled faintly. “What about you?”
“Do you even understand what you did wrong?”
If Hunter didn’t know, he wouldn’t have come looking for me.
But even if he understood everything, the proud golden boy would never lower his noble head to apologize to me.
I traced the rim of my coffee cup, speaking slowly.
“Hunter, you don’t have to like me, but you shouldn’t have so carelessly trampled on my genuine feelings.”
“Not marrying Sloane wasn’t my fault. It was your own greed.”
You couldn’t let go of the Mitchell wealth and influence.
You followed your family’s arrangements and attended those matchmaking events.
From all the suitable candidates, you meticulously selected a replacement.
I knew he’d harbored resentment toward me all these years.
Resented me for taking Sloane’s place.
Resented me for embarrassing him.
But he never considered how I’d survived those years.
I endured the Mitchell family’s contempt and outsiders‘ ridicule.
At every social event, people would point and whisper:
“Look, that’s the Mitchell wife who can’t hold her own in high society.”
Chapter 7
“Even after giving him children, she still can’t keep her husband’s heart. I heard Hunter’s office is filled with Sloane’s photos
I had tried to mend my relationship with Hunter.
But all I ever received in return was coldness.
He would push me away when I wore lace lingerie.
He would throw the lunch boxes I’d carefully prepared into the trash.
Hunter’s disdain for me was bone–deep.
It flowed through his blood and into the hearts of Ryan and Maya.
Hunter’s fingers tapped anxiously on the table.
He wanted to say something but seemed at a loss for words.
After a long silence, he said, “We can start over.”
I shook my head, gazing at the verdant treetops outside the window.
“I’ve already started over.”
“You remember what that note said. If you don’t agree to the divorce, the only people who’ll lose face are you and the Mitchell family.”
