The Disposable Wife's Unexpected Comeback

The biting November air hit her head-on, hitting her like a sharp slap the moment Enola stepped out of the building's lobby, yet it couldn't dispel the unease swirling in her stomach. She wrapped her cashmere coat tighter, her gaze sweeping the streets for a taxi. The doorman was busy greeting another resident when she walked to the corner, her high heels tapping the sidewalk impatiently to the rhythm.

She raised her hand, and the red nail polish flashed in the gray dusk. A yellow taxi with its headlights on suddenly veered out of the traffic. But another taxi, like a dark shadow in the thickening dusk, rushed forward, trying to get ahead.

Everything happened in a blurry state.

The tires screech. The headlight's glaring light shot toward her. Enola froze for a moment, like a deer trapped by a fast-moving predator. My mind went blank, my legs filled with lead. Another time, another painful memory, flashed through her mind—the cold floor in the corridor, the heart-wrenching pain.

A strong hand grabbed her arm and roughly yanked her back.

She staggered, twisted her ankle, and crashed heavily onto the hard sidewalk. The rough cement scraped her palm. The taxi roared past, its horn deafening, and the wind from the car tousled her hair.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest, like a terrified bird trapped inside. Cold sweat soaked her back, soaking through the silk lining of her dress.

"Hey, ma'am, are you alright?" A voice asked. A man, a stranger, was leaning over to look at her, his face full of worry.

Enola nodded, unable to speak. She propped herself up, her body trembling uncontrollably. She brushed the dust off her coat, her hands shaking almost uncontrollably.

She had just caught her breath when a sharp, persistent ringing pierced through the noise of the street. Her phone.

She clumsily fumbled through her handbag, her fingers refusing to obey. The screen displayed: Northwood Preparatory School.

Her blood froze.

She swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Alford?" It was Ms. Sullivan, Adrian's teacher. Her voice was tense with professional anxiety. "Sorry to bother you after work, but it happened...... An accident. Adrian got into a fight. ”

These words struck Enola even more deeply than when he had nearly been hit by a taxi earlier. "Is he alright?" Is he hurt? ”

"He's fine. Her lips were a bit scraped and bruised. But he was the one who made the first move. We need you to come over. ”

Everything else in the world disappeared. An important dinner, mysterious investors, trembling limbs—none of that matters anymore.

"I'll be there soon." Her voice was low, carrying a fierce roar.

When she hailed the next taxi, the fierce force startled the driver. Before the car door was fully closed, she shouted out the school's address. The car suddenly sped into traffic. Enola stared blankly at the blurry city lights, her thoughts racing.

She rushed through the school gate, strode through the silent, empty corridor, and arrived at the main office. The smell of wax and chalk on the floor filled the air.

Through the glass panel of the door, she saw him. Her son. He stood in the corner, head down, his small shoulders drooping under the weight of his oversized suit jacket. His white shirt was stained, and a deep purple bruise had already appeared at the corner of his mouth.

A pure and primal wave of pain swept through Enola. She pushed open the door, crossed the room in three steps, and knelt before him.

"Adrian." She said softly, her voice a bit choked. She gently lifted his chin, her thumb caressing his cheek.

His lower lip trembled. Those large gray eyes, like his father's, were filled with tears. He wrapped his arms around her neck, buried his face in her shoulder, his body trembling from silent sobbing.

"A fifth-grade boy named Michael kept mocking him." Ms. Sullivan explained softly from beside her desk. "He told Adrian he didn't have a father. Saying you're just his mom, and no dad wants him. ”

No dad wants him.

These words were like a dagger, stirring at her old wounds. The walls carefully built within Enola's heart collapsed to ashes. It was her fault—her escape caused her son to suffer this pain.

She held Adrian tightly and slowly stood up, while her son still snuggled up to her. She faced the teacher, her expression calm, but her eyes burned with anger.

"I apologize for Adrian's actions." Her voice was steady and clear. "I hope Michael and his parents will apologize to my son for their provocation."

After tense negotiations, both sides reluctantly exchanged apologies. Enola held Adrian's hand and walked out of the school with her head held high.

Once outside, the weight of reality weighed down again. She glanced at her watch. There was less than an hour left until the banquet.

She took out her phone and hovered her thumb over Zoe's contacts. She hated this, hated relying on her again, but she had no choice.

"Zoe." As soon as the call connected, she said. "I need you. Now. It was Adrian. ”

Ten minutes later, a red jeep creaked to a stop beside them. Zoe leaned out of the driver's seat, her face full of worry. "Get in the car." What's wrong? ”

Enola opened the rear door and carefully pulled the downcast Adrian into his car seat. She leaned in and tightly grabbed Zoe's hand. Her fingers were still trembling. The near-missing, the fight, and the word "Dad"—all of it churned inside her, mixing into a toxic cocktail of fear and old wounds.

"I can't explain it now." Enola's voice was hoarse. "You...... Take him somewhere warm. Buy him his favorite pizza. Please, Zoe. ”

Zoe's sharp gaze scrutinized Enola's pale face, her slightly messy skirt, and the slight trembling in her hand. "Enola, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. ”

"It's just work pressure." Enola forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I have to go. Late. ”

She closed the car door and watched as the jeep's red taillights disappeared into the traffic.

Standing alone on the sidewalk, the chill of evening seeped into her bones. A black luxury sedan stopped silently by the roadside. The driver—who was sent by Ben—got out and opened the door for her.

A cold and heavy fear enveloped her. This dinner made her feel something was wrong, like a trap.

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and got into the car.

The car door closed, isolating the city from the outside. As the car drove away toward the flickering lights of the square, Enola leaned back in a leather seat, closed her eyes, and felt as if she was being sent to the execution ground.