My Mil Called Me A “fruitless Tree” And Forced A Divorce. My Ceo Husband Handed Me $5m And Kicked Me Out In The Rain. Little Do They Know, I’m Carrying His Twins. Should I Disappear Forever?

Healing Wounds

James sat beside me, his face visibly gaunt after several sleepless nights. He said nothing about Sophia or the storm outside. He just focused on peeling and cutting small pieces of apple. His silence conveyed the weight of his regret, but I knew that there are wounds that even when bandaged leave scars that ache in bad weather.

That afternoon, a familiar cry was heard in the hallway. I frowned, about to turn away when James got up and quickly went out. Through the glass I saw Beatrice, laden with lunch containers and bags, her elderly face bathed in tears. She was trying to enter but the bodyguards and James blocked her.

“I’m sorry James. Let me see my grandchildren. I know I was wrong. I made chicken soup for Eleanor. Let me see them just for a moment.”

James stood in her way. His broad back, which I once leaned on, now radiated a cold distance. He said in a low but firm voice, “Go home, Mom. I’ve already told you, your presence now is not helpful. You want to see your grandchildren? Did you think about this day when you threw my wife and children out on the street? When you said Eleanor was a fruitless tree?”

Beatrice stopped. Her trembling hand let go of the lunch container. Tears of late remorse rolled down her wrinkled cheeks, but they couldn’t erase the harm she had caused us. James continued, “You almost killed your own grandchildren with your ignorance. If you truly love us, leave Eleanor in peace. Don’t force me to commit the disrespect of banning you from here forever.”

Seeing Beatrice’s lonely, pathetic figure walk away, my heart tightened. The woman who had spent her life among calculations and cruelty finally received the coldness of her only son. I felt no satisfaction, only sadness for a life that didn’t know how to value what it had.

James returned to the room and looked at me with regret. He didn’t know I had heard everything, and in my heart the invisible wall that separated me from the Sinclair family had grown a little higher.

Three days after the surgery that almost cost me my life, I was finally conscious enough to feel the pain of the long incision on my abdomen. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emptiness in my soul.

I lay there staring at the white ceiling, surrounded by the monotonous beeping of machines. James was still by my side, meticulously caring for me. He washed my face, fed me puree, helped me take my first steps.

James helped me sit up, placing more pillows behind my back. He brought me a bowl of hot soup, blew on it gently, and brought it to my mouth. I looked at him, observed this strange tenderness, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness. If this attention had come earlier, when I was the silent wife in the kitchen, perhaps my life would have been different.

I turned my face away. My voice was hoarse. “I can eat by myself. Just leave it there.”

James paused, the spoon suspended in mid-air. He looked down, a shadow of sadness crossed his face, but he didn’t insist. He placed the bowl on the table and said softly, “You’re still weak. Don’t push yourself. The babies are still in the incubator, but thank God their vitals are improving. The doctor says they can be with their mother in a week.”

Hearing about my children, my heart softened. I turned to James. My gaze was less harsh but maintained a safe distance. I pronounced each word clearly. “Thank you. Thank you for saving us. I’ll pay you back for the hospital and surgery costs later.”

James waved his hands hastily. His voice was anxious. “What are you saying, Eleanor? They are my children. You are my wife. Taking care of you is my responsibility. It’s what I should do. Don’t be so calculating with me, it hurts.”

I looked him straight in the eye and smiled faintly. “Wife? We’re divorced. Have you forgotten so quickly? You gave me that paper, I signed it. Now between us there is only one relationship: we are the parents of two children. You are the biological father, I am the mother. You can visit the children, pay child support, but don’t ever think about getting back together. A broken mirror, even if glued, will always have cracks.”

James stared at me. The pain was evident in his deep eyes. He wanted to come closer, take my hand, hug me, but my determined gaze acted as a barrier. In the end, he could only nod with a twisted bitter smile. “I understand. I won’t force you. Just let me be close to take care of the children, to see you everyday. That’s enough for me.”

Silence fell over the room, a heavy silence filled with remorse. James sat there slumped in his chair looking strangely lonely. I closed my eyes holding back tears. I knew I was being cruel, but that cruelty was necessary to protect my heart from further harm. The distance between us was no longer physical but a chasm of emotional wounds that could not be erased.