My Water Broke During His Ex's Hostage Crisis

Chapter 7

The moment I sent off the divorce papers, I practically ran home.

As soon as I pushed the door open, I heard Jessica's heartbroken cries.

Her little face was red, tears streaming down as she kicked and thrashed in the nanny's arms.

My heart twisted, and I rushed over, not even bothering to take off my coat before I unbuttoned it and pulled her into my arms.

Her tiny fists clenched my collar, leaving streaks of tears and snot on me.

I felt her fast, uneven breaths slow, and finally, my own tears broke free.

"It's okay, sweet girl. Mommy's here," I whispered, gently patting her back, my voice thick with emotion.

"You don't need Daddy. I'll love you twice as much."

In the days that followed, I made sure to shut myself off from anything to do with Gavin.

But my mother-in-law's endless visits made it hard to ignore—sepsis, ICU, the threat of amputation.

"Yvonne, please... have mercy on an old woman," she begged, clutching my hand, her eyes swollen and red.

"Gavin keeps calling for you. The doctors said if this goes on—"

"Mom, Jessica's sick," I interrupted, my voice hard as I pulled my hand away.

"The hospital's full of germs. I can't risk it."

My father-in-law was worse. He'd pound on the door, shouting curses every time he showed up.

Jessica would be so frightened, she'd vomit, her face pale as a ghost.

The nanny was furious.

"How dare they torment a child over their son's mess!"

One late night, as I paced the living room with Jessica in my arms, crying and kicking, the moonlight sliced through the curtains, casting a pale streak across the floor.

And that's when it hit me—this house had become a prison.

"Aunt Marry," I called softly to the nanny, who was cleaning the bottles.

"You mentioned there's an empty house in your hometown?"

She paused and then understood.

"The countryside's not fancy, but it's peaceful. If you want—"

"We're leaving tomorrow," I cut her off, pressing a soft kiss to Jessica's damp forehead.

"She needs a calm place to grow up."

At dawn, we packed our bags.

Before we left, I took one last look around the house that used to be ours—the half-finished bottle of maternity milk on the coffee table, the wilted ivy swaying on the balcony in the morning breeze.

"Let's go."

I tightened my hold on Jessica and closed the door behind me, never once looking back.