Chapter 7

After the divorce, Grace picked up the work she’d put down. She had once been a pretty well-known comic artist, taking on commissions from publishers and drawing serials in a classical style. After Sophie was born, she rarely drew. Ethan had suggested her quitting her work, too—he wanted her to pour all her energy into the family.

Now she was free, so she took up her pen again. It turned out Sophie had inherited her talent and her love for drawing. When Grace drew, Sophie would sit quietly and make her own pictures. Most of time, she drew a family of three holding hands, which wrenched Grace’s heart.

A few days later, Grace’s wounds had mostly healed. Late one night, she was still at her desk when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find Ethan outside, face black with anger.

“Grace, who gave you permission to move out?” he demanded. “We’re only divorced temporarily. Why make it such a hassle?” His tone was as nasty as ever.

Grace stood in the doorway, unwilling to let him in. He shoved her and strode past. He looked around the clean, compact little apartment and curled his lip in disdain. When his gaze landed on a family photo taken when Sophie was three, his expression changed. His image had been cut out. A portrait that once held three now showed only mother and daughter. Obviously, he was cut off

A strange agitation rose in him—anger, and a tight, creeping panic. He wanted to lash out, but when he noticed the bandage still taped at Grace’s temple, guilt tugged at him. Instinctively he reached to brush her hair aside to see the wound more clearly—but she slipped away, and his hand hung awkwardly in the air. His eyes chilled.

“It’s late. Go home. I’m going to bed,” Grace said, pointing to the door—asking him to leave.

Heat flared in Ethan’s chest. He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. He kind of missing the familiar scent of her skin. But Grace shoved him with all her strength, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling. He reached to try his old tricks—

Grace slapped his face hard. “Ethan Foster, we are divorced.” The slap rang like a shot in the quiet night. Stunned, Ethan’s anger roared back to life. He seized her wrist—and realized her hand was bare. The wedding ring was gone. So was the jade bracelet he’d given her—two things Grace had once treasured most.

“Where’s your ring? Your bracelet?”

That plain silver ring—they’d bought it when they married. Later he’d given her more expensive diamond rings, but she’d always loved the simple silver one best. She had never taken it off. An unprecedented kind of fear rose in Ethan’s chest.

“We’ll remarry,” he blurted. “In a few days, we’ll remarry.”

“Remarry?” Grace’s laugh was pure scorn. “Aren’t you afraid Vivian will cry and threaten to die?” She looked at him with contempt. A man who’d changed his heart was like cash dropped on shit—disgusting to pick up and use again. “Leave.”

“What do you mean?” he growled, fighting to tamp down his rage.

“This is not your home. You should go.” Grace walked quickly to the door and made a small, formal gesture of invitation. Her eyes on him were cool and distant.

Ethan glared at her, furious—then something seemed to click. The villa had been scrubbed so clean of her that he could hardly find a trace of mother and daughter left. Every time he went home now, it felt like entering a stranger’s house. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t even sleep. That was why he’d come to Grace’s pre-marital apartment.

“Grace, do you really want to divorce me?”

Inwardly, Grace laughed. Where did this man get such confidence? He seemed to think that once he’d had his fun and decided to “return to his family,” she would take him back. He even believed she was using divorce as a tactic to please him. Ridiculous.

Her silence read to him like assent. Ethan pointed at her, his finger shaking. “Grace, fine. You’ve really grown a spine—you dare dump me? I underestimated you. I’ll see how long you can keep this up. When you come begging, I won’t forgive you.” He flung the words down and slammed the door behind him.

The noise woke Sophie. In her bunny pajamas, she toddled out, rubbing her eyes. “Mommy, I think I heard Daddy.”

Grace scooped her up and pressed a kiss to her hair. “You misheard, sweetheart. Come on, back to sleep.” Sophie rested her head on Grace’s shoulder and drifted off again. However bitter life might be, as long as she had this sugar-sweet daughter, even the air tasted sweet.

A few days later was the parents meeting at the preschool. Grace planned to withdraw Sophie and brought her along. Not wanting to embarrass her child, she dressed gorgeously. As soon as they stepped into the classroom hand in hand, her eyes landed on Vivian and Daisy front and center—sitting in the most conspicuous seats. Daisy was climbing up and down on Ethan’s knee, the picture of father–daughter intimacy. He had never once attended Sophie’s parent–teacher meeting.