Ex-husband’s Regret



About 10 minutes later, I parked the car outside the courtyard.

"We're home, Ryan," I said as I opened the car door.

Unexpectedly, the drunken man collapsed as I opened the door.

I frowned and reluctantly pulled him back up. "Can you stand up on your own?"

There was no response.

I had to call Brenda, who was asleep, to help me carry Ryan back to his room.

"Mrs. Frost, do you need any help?" asked Brenda.

"No, you can go back to bed."

I felt a bit embarrassed for disturbing her. I didn't want to trouble her further.

After Brenda left, I endured the discomfort of the smell of alcohol and helped Ryan take off his shoes and tie, then I prepared to go downstairs.

But as I turned around, I realized that he had suddenly grabbed my hand.

With his eyes closed, he murmured, "Honey..."

I didn't really think he was calling me. It was more likely that he and Jessica had progressed to the point of calling each other such intimate nicknames.

I reached out and opened his eyelids. "Ryan, look at me."

"Honey..."

He didn't cooperate, turning away from my actions and pulling my hand closer, whispering, "Charlotte, my wife is Charlotte.'

My heart skipped a beat.

Then I told myself that he was just drunk. There was no need to take his words seriously. When he was sober, he would only choose someone else.

I pursed my lips and said calmly, 'Is that so? But you don't actually like her. It must be tough for you to marry someone you don't like."

The words he spoke to his grandfather in the office were etched clearly in my mind. 'Don't make the same mistake again, Charlotte."

"Not at all..." He rubbed his hand against the back of mine, a hint of satisfaction appearing on his cold face. He then said, "My wife is very good, she's the best woman in the world."

"You're not so blind after all."

After marrying into the Frost family, I had been perfect in front of the elders and Ryan. Even if he didn't like me, he couldn't find fault with me in this regard.

Ryan murmured a few words that I couldn't hear clearly, perhaps thinking that there was no one else around, and then fell asleep again.

Once he was sound asleep, I pulled my hand away and went downstairs to prepare something to ease his headache because he would have a hangover when he woke up.

After drinking too much, he tended to wake up in the middle of the night. He would need something to prevent himself from having a really bad hangover.

Maybe it was a habit I had developed over the past three years. Even though the divorce agreement had been drafted and I had moved out of this house that didn't belong to me, I still subconsciously took care of him.

After cooking until the ingredients were soft and tender, I suddenly realized with regret and slapped my forehead in annoyance.

What was I doing?

I wanted to leave, but it wouldn't be good to waste the food.

'Forget it, let's just consider this a random act of kindness, just like taking care of a stray dog.

I found a reasonable excuse for myself.

Once it was ready, I strained out the herbs and carried the soup upstairs.

Originally, I planned to leave it by the bedside table and leave. But as I walked to the side of the bed, I met a pair of dark eyes.

I was taken aback, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah."

"I, uh, I made some soup for you."Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

I placed the soup on the bedside table. "You can drink it if you want, or not. It's up to you."

As I finished speaking, I was about to leave in a hurry.

Unexpectedly, the man who had been completely unconscious half an hour ago suddenly reached out his long arms and wrapped them around my waist.

"Honey, can we not get a divorce?"