Dear Ex Wife Please take me back

ATHENA

"22nd October." The words echo in my mind like a depressing song on a loop.

My baby was born on the 22nd of September.noveldrama

Which means... Rayen isn't mine." Not biologically. Not by blood.

God, I feel like such a fool.

I shouldn't have come. I should've stayed away like I promised myself I would. But

I saw the ambulance that day, saw the way Alex held him, panic written all over his face. Something broke in me. Something deep and aching.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was that stupid glimmer of hope I've been secretly nursing like a wound that never healed.

And that damn birthmark.

"We even have the same hair color!" Rayen's happy voice rings at the back of my head, making my eyes sting.

I wrap my arms tightly around myself.

I was so hopeful.

I'm so sure there was a reason I felt that pull to Rayen every time I saw him. The way he'd cling to me. The way I knew how to soothe his cries like I'd done it a hundred times before.

But it was just in my head. It's just a cruel coincidence.

Wishful thinking.

And Alex... the way he looked at me, the way he held me... it messed everything up.

Because no matter how hard I try, I can't stop loving the man who tore me apart. The jealousy in his eyes and how he looked like he wanted to rip Noah's head off reminds me of that night I danced with Zayan.

I don't know why he behaved like that.

"I can hear you thinking." Noah's deep voice pulls me back to his car.

"Am I that obvious?" I sigh, not having the strength in me to pretend.

"What were you doing with Alex, Athena?"

I stare out the window, the sun glowing over the city, making me jealous of how

beautiful and well put it looks.

"Athena?"

I swallow, blinking back the tears burning at the corners of my eyes.

"I don't know," I admit softly. "Making a fool of myself, I guess."

Noah doesn't respond right away. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of words unspoken.

"Do you still love him?" He asks, making me realize that he's misinterpreted my statement, but that sounds better than what actually happened.

"No." I respond with confidence, but my heart jumps as if calling me out on the lie.

"You don't owe him anything, Athena," Noah says finally. "Not your thoughts. Not your pain. And definitely not your love."

His words are soft, but they hit hard, like gentle truths dressed in armor.

I look down at my hands, fingers twisted in my lap.

Another pause.

Then his hand reaches across the console, brushing lightly over mine.

"I hate seeing you like this," he murmurs.

"How long do you have until your next shift?" He asks.

I grab my phone to take a look at the time before responding to him,

"Two hours."

“Let's have breakfast before I drop you off at the hospital.” He says at the same time, my stomach rumbles, making me sink onto the chair from shame.

Noah's throat vibrates with laughter, "I guess even your tummy agrees."

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "That was so embarrassing."

"I think it's cute." He laughs, making me hit him playfully.

He pulls into a small café tucked

into the corner of a quiet street, one of those hidden places with ivy climbing the brick walls and soft jazz leaking from the open windows.

Our usual hiding spot.

We used to come here a lot when I was still in school. Noah has really been there

for me.

As we step in, It smells like roasted coffee and warm pastries, and for the first time today, something inside me unclenches.

We choose a table by the window, the morning sun casting golden light over the

wooden counter and glass display filled with croissants and fruit tarts.

The waitress brings over menus, but Noah doesn't even open his.

"You want the usual?"

I blink at him. "You remember my usual?"

He shrugs, his lips tugging into a lopsided smile. "I remember everything about you, Athena."

"That sounds like a lame pick-up line." I joke.

Ten minutes and a few jokes into our breakfast, Noah's laughter fades, and for a second, he just watches me.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks softly, his gaze searching mine.

I nod. "Yeah. I'm just tired."

"That's not what I asked."

I pause, my fingers tightening around the warm ceramic mug. "No," I admit. “I'm

not okay."

He leans back in his chair, giving me space but not looking away.

"Want to talk about it?"

There's something in his tone.

Always patient, open, unafraid of the mess I come with. And maybe it's the comfort of the café or the fact that someone finally asked me without expecting a perfectly packaged answer, but I speak.

"There was this man," I begin, my eyes fixed on the swirl of milk in my mug. "At

my parents' grave."

Noah straightens slightly, listening.

"I didn't know him. He said he knew my parents and was tasked with giving me

something after ten years."

"What something?"

"He handed me a box. Just... a box."

"What was inside?"

"A formula," I whisper. "For a drug. A powerful one. According to him, it can heal a

heart condition with just a shot."

"You still have it?" he asks calmly.

I nod. "You're the first I've told."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I didn't trust anyone," I whisper.

His eyes soften at that.

Then, without a word, he leans in again. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, where a bit of milk lingers. The touch is slow, careful, like the way someone handles something fragile.

But this time, instead of letting his hand fall away, he brings his thumb to his lips

and licks it off with his eyes locked on mine.