My Ex Stole Our Son's Bone Marrow

After a drink that night, Emelia Chapman found herself conveniently getting a ride home from Khari Freeman—no designated driver needed.

Lorelai Bailey nudged her shoulder playfully and giggled. "Think your husband might be getting a little anxious?"

Emelia, not so sure about where David Richards' head was at, shrugged. "Doubt it. I've stopped holding my breath."

Lorelai didn't answer directly. She just gave a knowing look. "You might want to get going. Could be some drama waiting for you tonight."

"Drama? If we finally manage to talk divorce tonight, that's the only show I care about." Emelia waved and slid into the car.

Meanwhile, Ryatt Bailey watched the car pull away, totally puzzled. "What's David playing at? Now he suddenly cares about Emelia? He doesn't want the divorce anymore?"

Lorelai shot her brother an amused, slightly confused glance. "Not your problem, don't get tangled up in it. Let's head home."

When Emelia walked in, she was surprised to find David sitting in the living room. "When did you get back?"

"About twenty minutes ago," David replied evenly.

"Oh." Her tone was just as flat. "I'll grab a shower first, then we can talk about the divorce."

David said nothing, but his gaze followed her all the way to the bedroom.

As the water ran over her, Emelia's mind churned. If David brought up Ryatt, she'd admit to her fake affair—hoping that would push him into agreeing to the split once and for all.

But even with her resolve locked in, her emotions were a mess. She should've felt relieved about the divorce, yet her chest felt heavy, twisted.

She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head, then stepped out.

An hour later, Emelia came out in a nightgown, ready to talk. But David wasn't in the living room anymore. She checked his study—empty too.

"What the—did he leave?" she muttered, frowning. She grabbed her phone and shot him a WhatsApp: "Where are you?"

His voice message popped up quickly: "I'm in the lounge. Come over."

She listened twice—his low, clear voice was impossible to ignore.

In the lounge, David was on the sofa, a bottle of wine and two glasses resting on the coffee table. Emelia walked in slowly and settled across from him.

"Drink a lot tonight?" David asked, setting the mood. "If not, we can sip and talk."

"Not much. Just two beers."

David gave a faint smile and poured the wine. "Have fun on your little date with that 'brother'? Why didn't you drink more?"

Emelia paused, reaching for her glass, and let out a wry laugh. "I've got a low tolerance. Was scared I wouldn't make it home."

David looked at her through narrowed eyes, satisfied. "Smart move. Glad to see my wife still thinks about what's good for this house."

"Cut the nonsense. Let's talk about the divorce." Emelia wasn't impressed by his sarcasm.

David took a slow sip. "Emelia, have I wronged you?"

"Materially, you've given me plenty," she admitted, being honest.

"So it's something else, then." His tone turned certain. "You're upset because I work too much and don't give you enough attention?"

That hit a nerve. Emelia turned her head away, sipping wine in silence.

David let out a low, knowing laugh, got up, and came around to sit beside her.

"What are you doing?" She shifted away, keeping her distance. Staring at her glass, her voice softened. "I know there's someone else in your heart. You don't love me. Why would I be unhappy? Forcing this won't bring anyone joy."

"That's what you believe?" His curiosity sparked.

Emelia looked up. "Isn't it true? Everyone knows about you and that girl from back then."

David's expression flickered, lost for a second in old memories.

"You're still not over her," Emelia said, jealousy bleeding into her tone.

David snapped back, a smile creeping onto his lips. He leaned in, dropping his voice to a teasing murmur. "Honey… are you jealous?"

She instinctively leaned back, cornered against the couch, hands pressed defensively against his chest. "Who's jealous? Don't flatter yourself."

In one smooth motion, he pinned her to the sofa, lightly brushing her hair. "If you want me around more, just say so. I'd say yes."

Caught off guard, Emelia's face flushed crimson, her stammer betraying her. "W-What are you—what kind of tactic is this? I'm not joking, David. I'm serious about the divorce!"

Before she could finish, David kissed her—hard, commanding, his hands locking hers above her head, his leg pressing down. Fighting back was pointless.

His kiss was fierce, unrelenting, giving no room to pull away. Emelia instinctively tried to turn her head, but he followed every move until her walls crumbled, and she gave in.

The night burned on.

In the morning, David woke and reached for her—only to find empty sheets, cool to the touch.

"Honey?" He assumed she was just out of reach and fumbled across the bed.

Still nothing. He snapped awake, sitting up with a frown. It was Saturday—she always slept in. Why was she up this early?

He pulled on his robe and started roaming the house. "Emelia? Darling? You home?"

The big house stayed silent. Unease crept in as he dialed her number.

It took several rings before she picked up, background noise loud and chaotic.

"Where did you go so early?" David asked, confused.

Emelia found a quieter spot. "David, I've moved out. Let me know about the divorce soon. Dragging this out is pointless."

Last night had made everything clearer than she could ignore. One passionate night wasn't going to change the cycle she had to escape.

So she chose separation. Staying under the same roof would never lead to the happiness she actually wanted.

"You're really leaving me?" His voice turned cold. "Emelia, do you even know what you're doing?"