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Chapter 28 – Arya's POV
I wasn't looking for it.
In fact, I was avoiding anything that had to do with the past. The pain, the silence, the years I had spent convincing myself I didn't care anymore. But the past had a cruel way of creeping back when you least expected it.
It was a quiet afternoon. Damon had taken Liam out to the park, giving me a rare moment to myself. I was cleaning up his home office — a place I used to avoid like the plague — when I found it.
A plain brown envelope.
I nearly tossed it aside with a pile of other old paperwork, but something about it made me pause. Maybe it was the way it was slightly hidden under a stack of folders, or how my name was written on the edge in soft pencil.
I pulled it open.
And my heart stopped.
It was the divorce papers.
The same ones I had left on the kitchen counter two years ago when I walked out. I remembered that day clearly — the way my hands trembled as I placed the file down, the tears burning my eyes as I turned the doorknob, telling myself that I couldn't keep trying to love a man who made me feel invisible.
I expected him to sign.
Hell, I wanted him to. Back then, I thought it would be easier if he let me go — easier to hate him, to forget.
But now, looking at the untouched signature line next to his name…
He never signed them.
Not even a scribble. Not even an attempt.
My knees gave out, and I sat down hard on the floor, the envelope falling from my hands as I stared blankly ahead.
He never signed them.
Why?
I tried to steady my breathing, but my heart was racing too fast. I held the papers in my hands like they were something fragile — like touching them too hard would break everything I thought I knew.
Part of me wanted to be angry. How could he not tell me? How could he keep something this big from me for so long?
But another part… a quieter, more vulnerable part… was stunned.
He didn't want to let me go.
Even when I had walked away. Even when I had begged him to fight for me and he stayed silent.
He never signed.
I don't know how long I sat there, staring, remembering every cold morning, every distant glance, every moment I thought I meant nothing to him.
But maybe I had been wrong.
Maybe he did care — he just didn't know how to show it.
And maybe… he never stopped loving me.
My throat tightened.
This new Damon — the one who made breakfast, who played with Liam, who smiled when he looked at me like I was something precious — he was different. Softer. Still guarded, but trying.
I'd been so afraid of getting hurt again that I didn't allow myself to really believe in this change. I'd been building walls, telling myself it was just temporary, that I shouldn't hope.
But finding those papers — untouched, unread, hidden away — was a quiet confession.
He didn't want a divorce.
Maybe he never did.
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That evening, I waited for him to return.
I set the table, made tea, even lit a candle — though I told myself it was just for the smell. Not for romance. Not for him.
I wasn't sure how to bring it up. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to. What if he regretted not signing them? What if he had just forgotten?
But when Damon walked through the door, holding Liam in his arms, his smile wide and easy… I knew.
He hadn't forgotten.
He'd made a choice.
"Hey," he said, his eyes lighting up when he saw me standing there. "We brought cookies."
Liam wriggled out of his grip and ran toward me, holding a messy little paper bag with crumbs spilling from the top. "Mommy, I picked the chocolate ones! Daddy said they're your favorite!"
"They are," I whispered, heart too full to say more.
Damon looked at me strangely. He could always read me too well, even when I didn't want him to.
"You okay?" he asked gently, placing the bag on the counter.
I nodded, forcing a small smile. "Can we talk? Just us?"
His face froze for a second before he slowly nodded. "Of course. Let me tuck him in."
I waited in the living room, hands folded tightly in my lap, heart pounding.
When he returned, he didn't sit far from me. Close — but not too close. Like he knew I was still deciding whether to let him in.
I looked at him — really looked at him.
He wasn't the same man from two years ago. The coldness in his eyes had been replaced with something softer, like he finally saw me.
"I found the divorce papers," I said quietly.
His jaw tensed slightly, but he didn't speak.
"You never signed them," I added.
Silence.
"I thought you would," I whispered. "Back then… you didn't even try to stop me. I thought that meant you didn't care."
"I did care," he said hoarsely. "But I thought I'd already lost you. And I didn't know how to fix what I broke."
"So why didn't you sign?"
His eyes met mine, steady, vulnerable.
"Because I was a coward. I couldn't fight for you then, Arya. But I also couldn't let you go. Keeping those papers… not signing them… it was the only way I could still feel like there was hope. Like maybe one day you'd come back."
I blinked back the sting in my eyes.
"And now?" I asked softly. "Do you still want me back?"
He leaned in just slightly, voice trembling.
"I never stopped wanting you."
I looked away, tears slipping down my cheek before I could stop them.
"I'm scared," I admitted. "Scared of hoping again. Of trusting you and being let down."
"I know," he said. "But I'll spend every day proving to you that you can. I don't want a divorce, Arya. I want my wife. My family."
I didn't answer right away.
But I didn't walk away either.
Instead, I reached out — slowly — and laced my fingers through his.
It was small. But it was a start.
And maybe… just maybe… I was ready to try again.