Chapter 27
puun, A Love Reborn
Henry’s fingers tightened are and his wine glass as he watched me across the white linen tablecloth.
could read the thoughts churning behind his carefully controlled expression. Five years ago, I’d been so eager to accept his proposal, to become Mrs. Henry Harding. Now, with Thomas back in the picture, I was suddenly demanding a divorce. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
“Look at Billy,” I said softly, trying to defuse the tension as Billy carefully arranged his silverware. “He has better table manners than most adults.”
Billy beamed at the praise, straightening his small shoulders as he properly placed his napkin in his lap. The gesture was so endearingly grown–up that it made my heart ache.
“At least someone in this family knows how to behave appropriately,” Henry’s voice carried that edge of mockery I’d grown to hate. Under the table, his foot suddenly pressed down on mine, the expensive Italian leather of his shoe grinding against my ankle.
I tried to pull away, but his foot followed, increasing the pressure. The perfect mask of his face never slipped as he took another sip of wine.
“Daddy,” Billy’s clear voice cut through the tension, “Mrs. Peterson says a gentleman should always be gentle with ladies.”
Henry’s foot froze mid–press. “Is that so?”
“Yes!” Billy nodded earnestly. “And Mom, Mrs. Peterson also says a lady should always be graceful.”
I managed a tight smile, finally wrenching my foot free. The moment I did, I brought my heel down hard on Henry’s instep. His wine glass trembled slightly, but his expression remained unchanged.
“Speaking of grace,” Henry’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “I just saw an impolite dog.”
“A dog?” Billy perked up, looking around excitedly. “Where?”
“Right here at our table,” Henry smirked. “Can’t you see?”
“Well,” I couldn’t resist responding, “if you’ve gone blind, that would explain a lot. Like why you married me in the first
place.”
“Mom! Dad!” Billy’s reproachful voice made us both start guiltily. “No fighting at dinner. It’s not polite.”
Henry’s expression softened slightly as he looked at our son. “You’re right. I apologize for my behavior.”
“Me too, sweetheart,” I added quickly, amazed at how easily Billy could diffuse tension. “Should we order dessert to celebrate your good manners?”
Billy’s face lit up, but he glanced uncertainly at Henry. “Can we Dad? Mrs. Peterson says too many sweets aren’t good, but just one piece of cake won’t hurt, right?”
“Well,” Henry pretended to consider seriously, “since you’ve demonstrated such excellent etiquette, I suppose we could make an exception.”
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Really?” Billy bounced in hifs seat, then caught himself and sat traight again. “I mean, thank you, dad.” He affected an exaggerated formal tone that made even Henry’s lips twitch.
“Look at you,” I couldn’t help smiling, “sounding like a proper litle gentleman.”
Just like Daddy!” Billy beamed proudly. “Great–grandpa says I’m going to be exactly like Daddy when I grow up.”
I saw Henry’s shoulders tense at the mention of William, but his voice remained gentle. ‘Let’s look at that dessert menu,
shall we?”
After dinner, I caught Henry’s arm as Billy was distracted by the dessert display. “We need to talk,” I said quietly. “Properly.”
He followed me to a quiet corner of the restaurant, maintaining enough distance that any observers, would simply see a couple having a civilized conversation.
“Henry,” I began, keeping my voice steady, “let’s be honest with each other. This divorce would free you to be with Isabella openly. Why are you fighting it?”
His jaw clenched. “You think Sanders can replace me?”
“This isn’t about Thomas,” I insisted. “I’ll sign whatever agreement you want. I’ll even write a legally binding promise never to be with him. Just sign the divorce papers.”
Henry studied my face with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of something almost vulnerable in his expression before it hardened again.
“If Grandpa agrees,” he said finally, “I’ll consider it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him myself,” I started, but Henry’s phone suddenly rang, William’s name lighting up the screen.
Henry answered briefly, then held out the phone. “Grandpa wants to speak with you.”
I took the phone, aware of Henry’s scrutinizing gaze. “Grandpa? How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I hear your voice,” William’s reply was punctuated by a weak cough. “Are you keeping my stubborn grandson in line?”
“I’m trying my best,” I said softly, turning slightly away from Henry’s piercing stare. “But you know how Hardings can be.”
William’s chuckle turned into another coughing fit. When he caught his breath, his voice was serious. “Sophia, my dear, I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything, Grandpa.”
“Don’t make any big decisions until after my surgery,” he wheezed. “Family should stay together in times like these. Can you do that for me?”
I closed my eyes, fighting back tears. “Of course, Grandpa. Just focus on getting better.”
“That’s my girl,” William’s voice grew fainter. “Bring Billy to see me tomorrow. And Sophia? Remember what I told you about patience. Sometimes it’s the key to everything.”
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Chapter 27
The conversation was brief, but William’s labored breathing was audible even from where I stood. He wanted to see Billy tomorrow, and his cough sounded worse than ever.
“After his surgery,” Henry declared, ending the call. “We’ll discuss the divorce after Grandpa’s surgery.”
immediately replied, “Alright, you must…”
Before I could finish my sentence, Billy’s small voice interrupted me. “Mom? Dad? Can we go home now?”
“Sweetheart,” I knelt down to his level, “we’re going to stay at Aunt Betty’s for a while.”
“But I want to go home!” Billy’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t like Aunt‘ Betty’s guest room. It smells funny.”
Before I could respond, Henry crouched down and gathered Billy into his arms. “No one’s going to Aunt Betty’s,” he declared firmly. “We’re all going home.”
The joy that lit up Billy’s face made my chest tight. He threw his arms around Henry’s neck, peppering his father’s cheek
with kisses.
As I watched Henry carry our son toward the parking lot, my mind raced with questions. Why was he suddenly playing the devoted father? What game was he playing now?
“Sophia,” Henry’s voice carried back to me, sharp with impatience, “are you lame or just naturally this slow?”
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