
THE WIFE HE THREW AWAY
Chapter 2
EVELYN POV
The helicopter arrived at six in the morning.
I had packed two small bags during the night, one for me and one for Grace. Just clothes, toiletries, and the documents I had kept hidden for years. My original passport. My old portfolio. The contract I signed when I married Victor.
Grace rubbed her eyes as I woke her. "Where are we going, Mommy?"
"To meet your uncle," I said quietly. "My brother."
"I have an uncle?"
My heart squeezed. She was eight years old and she did not know her own family. Victor's family had made sure of that.
"Yes, baby. You have a whole family you have never met."
We crept through the yacht while everyone slept. Victor was in his private cabin, probably with Amanda. My son Samuel slept in his room, a photo of his father on his nightstand.
I stood at his door, hand on the handle.
I wanted to take him too. But Samuel was his father's son in every way. He worshipped Victor. He ignored me. When I fell off the yacht last night, he did not even come to check if I was alive.
That hurt worse than Victor swimming past me.
"Mommy?" Grace tugged my hand. "Are we leaving Samuel?"
"Your brother has made his choice," I whispered. "Just like your father made his."
We climbed to the top deck where the helicopter waited. The pilot helped us inside, and within minutes we were in the air, flying away from that yacht, that life, that prison.
Grace pressed her face to the window. "Wow, Mommy! We are so high!"
I held her hand and watched the yacht grow smaller below us.
Goodbye, Victor. Goodbye, ten years of tears. Goodbye, Evelyn Emmanuel.
Two hours later, we landed on the grounds of Williams Estate.
The house was exactly as I remembered. Tall white columns. Gardens stretching for acres. Fountains sparkling in the morning sun. This was where I grew up, where I learned to draw, where I designed my first dress at twelve years old.
This was home.
Emmanuel stood waiting on the lawn, hands in his pockets, looking exactly like our father. Tall, broad shoulders, sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Evelyn." He opened his arms.
I ran to him like I was a child again, burying my face in his chest. The tears came then, ten years of pain pouring out in heavy sobs.
"I am sorry," I cried. "I am so sorry I left."
"Shh." He held me tight. "You are home now. That is all that matters."
Grace stood nearby, eyes wide, clutching her small bag.
Emmanuel knelt down to her level. "You must be Grace. I am your Uncle Emmanuel."
Grace looked at me, then back at him. "Mommy says you are her brother."
"That is right. And this is your real home." He smiled, and it transformed his serious face. "Do you like pancakes? Because our cook Mrs. Sarah makes the best pancakes in the world."
Grace nodded slowly. "I like pancakes."
"Then let us go inside and have breakfast. You must be hungry after such a long trip."
He took Grace's hand and led us toward the house. Staff members lined the entrance, tears in their eyes.
"Miss Evelyn," Mrs. Sarah, the head housekeeper, pulled me into a hug. "We missed you so much."
"I missed you too."
Inside, the house smelled like fresh flowers and vanilla, just like it always had. Family photos lined the walls, including old pictures of me at fashion shows, accepting awards, standing next to famous models.
Grace stopped in front of one photo. "Mommy, is that you?"
The photo showed me at twenty five, holding a gold trophy, wearing a gown I designed myself. The banner behind me read "Designer of the Year: Evelyn Williams."
"Yes, baby. That was me. Before."
"You look so pretty…And happy."
I was happy once. Before Victor, before the contract..before I forgot who I was.
Emmanuel led us to the dining room where breakfast waited. Pancakes, eggs, fresh fruit, everything bright and warm.
"Eat," he said. "Then we talk."
Grace dove into the pancakes while I picked at my food. My stomach was in knots.
After Grace finished eating, Mrs. Sarah took her to see her new room. Emmanuel and I walked to his study, the same room our father had used for business.
"Tell me everything," Emmanuel said, pouring two cups of tea.
So I did.
I told him about the contract Victor made me sign. About his mother Sylvia calling me trash and worthless for ten years. About Amanda, his assistant who got more attention than his own wife. About falling off the yacht and almost drowning while my husband saved another woman.
Emmanuel's jaw tightened with every word.
"I am going to destroy him," he said quietly.
"No." I set down my tea. "I do not want revenge. I just want my life back."
"He let you almost drown, Evelyn."
"I know. But destroying him means destroying my children's father. Samuel already hates me. I will not give him more reasons."
Emmanuel studied me for a long moment. "You always were too kind."
"Not anymore." I straightened my spine. "I want to work again. I want to design. I want to rebuild my career and show the world that Evelyn Williams is back."
My brother smiled, and there was pride in his eyes. "Now that is the sister I remember."
"But Emmanuel, there is something else."
"What?"
My hands trembled as I placed my teacup on the desk.
"Victor does not know who I really am. He has no idea that I am worth more than his entire company."
Emmanuel's smile turned sharp. "Good. Let him find out when we are ready."
"When will that be?"
Before he could answer, the study door opened.
A man stood in the doorway. Tall, dark hair, flour dusted across his chef coat. He held a tablet in his hands and was speaking quickly about menu changes.
Then he looked up and saw me.
The tablet slipped from his fingers.
"Evelyn?"
My heart stopped.
Benjamin. My childhood friend. The boy who used to steal cookies with me from the kitchen. The man who once told me he loved me the night before I left with Victor.
"Benjamin," I whispered.
His eyes swept over me, taking in the messy hair, the tired face, the weight I had lost over ten years.
Then he crossed the room in three steps and pulled me into his arms.
"You came back," he said into my hair. "You finally came back."
And for the first time in ten years, I felt like someone was truly happy to see me.
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