My Coldhearted Ex-Husband Demands A Remarriage

Three days later, every muscle in Erika's body screamed in agony. Her lower back throbbed from bending over porcelain bowls, and her hands were raw and peeling from the harsh industrial chemicals. But it was Saturday. She pushed the pain deep down, put on her warmest sweater, and took Connor by the hand. They rode the bus into Manhattan. The sun was shining brightly, casting golden reflections off the skyscrapers. Connor pressed his face against the dirty bus window, his eyes wide with wonder at the towering city. Erika stroked his soft, dark hair, so much like his uncle's... or so she thought, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. When they reached Central Park, the pathways were crowded with wealthy families pushing designer strollers. Erika kept a tight grip on Connor's hand, feeling out of place in her faded jeans. Connor stopped dead in his tracks. He pointed a small finger toward the grand, double-decker carousel. The painted horses bobbed up and down to the cheerful carnival music. Erika walked him over to the ticket booth. She glanced at the price board. Her stomach plummeted. The cost of a single ride was more than she had budgeted for their dinner. Connor looked up at her. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, the way her hand hovered over her cheap wallet. Instantly, the excitement vanished from his face. He dropped his hand and took a step back. "I don't want to ride it, Mommy. It looks boring." The lie was so obvious, so heartbreakingly mature, that it felt like a knife twisting in Erika's heart. Erika's eyes burned with unshed tears. She unzipped her wallet, pulled out her last twenty-dollar bill, and shoved it under the glass window. "One ticket, please," she said, her voice thick. She lifted Connor onto a white horse, securing the strap around his waist. She stood behind the metal fence, waving as the ride started. Connor threw his head back and laughed as the horse went up and down. For three minutes, he was just a normal, happy kid. When the ride ended, Connor ran out the gate and slammed into Erika's legs, hugging her tight. He pulled back, a serious expression on his little face. He dug his hands into his jacket pockets. He pulled out two fistfuls of quarters and dimes, pressing the heavy metal coins into her palm. "I saved these from the bottles," Connor announced proudly. "I'm going to buy our dinner tonight. I can take care of you, Mommy." Erika couldn't hold it back anymore. She dropped to her knees right there on the pavement and pulled him into a crushing hug, burying her face in his shoulder as the tears flowed freely. As she held him, the smell of the crisp autumn air faded, replaced by the phantom memory of a sweltering, pitch-black hotel room five years ago. She remembered the burning fever in her veins from the drugs her stepbrother had slipped her. She remembered stumbling into the wrong room. She remembered the man in the dark. His skin had been scorching hot, his breathing ragged. He had held her with an overwhelming but not brutal strength, a desperate grip that wasn't meant to harm, something that Doyle had never shown her. She had always believed, with every fiber of her being, that the man in the dark was Elijah Morgan. Doyle's older brother. The kind, gentle man who had died in the sea. It was the only beautiful memory she had from her nightmare marriage. Erika pulled back and looked into Connor's deep eyes. Elijah's eyes. She wiped her tears and kissed his cheek. "I know you will, baby. I know you will." She stood up, slipping the coins into her pocket. She would protect Elijah's son with her life.