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Too Late for the Love I Deserved Novel Cover

Too Late for the Love I Deserved

While Shannon lies critically ill in the ICU following a tragic miscarriage, her husband is preoccupied traveling the globe with his former flame. His neglect turns to cold indifference when he finally reaches out, not to offer support, but to demand a divorce. He assumes her absence is merely a dramatic act, prompting a devastating response from her mother. As Shannon clings to life, the reality of her suffering finally threatens to shatter his world of ignorance and betrayal.
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Chapter 3

The voicemail's cold beep was the only reply Greyson received.

He seethed for a while. Then he put away his phone and stormed back to Emily's place.

After a month of traveling with her, he looked drained. When he mentioned he was hungry, she chirped, "I'll order takeout. What do you feel like?"

Greyson frowned at the suggestion. Weeks of restaurant food and street eats had taken a toll on his stomach.

Emily failed to sense his reluctance, and he masked it with a smile. "Whatever you want is fine."

But I knew he was craving homemade food.

He had a fragile stomach, and he was fussy about food. He hated onions, peanut oil, organ meats, and fish with tiny bones. I'd memorized his preferences, tailoring every meal to his tastes.

When work dinners left him sick, I'd prepare light dishes to soothe his stomach and lift his spirits.

He never appreciated it. To him, my efforts were just the duty of a wife he provided for.

Emily, on the other hand, was his princess.

She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Of course, she didn't cook. Her hands were not for that.

When the takeout arrived, Greyson picked at it, barely eating.

Emily noticed. "Not your thing?"

He shook his head, but I caught the disappointment in his eyes.

She probed, "It seems you don't quite like these popular dishes. What do you like to eat? I'll order it next time."

Greyson shrugged. "I'm not fussy. Some salad or a rib soup would do."

His voice carried a trace of longing, though it was quickly gone.

I wanted to tell him that even simple dishes required care and effort. But now, it didn't matter anymore. My heart was done with him.

He ate little, then cleared the takeout boxes and stepped outside to toss the trash. Alone, he tried my number again. Three calls, all to a dead phone.

He paced back and forth, then scrolled through his contacts. Unfortunately, he didn't know my friends, and I had left my job, drifting from old colleagues.

Out of options, he called my mom.

When she answered, he snapped, "How long is Shannon gonna drag this out? Tell her to quit the drama, or we're through."