Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart by Hayley

Chapter 112 Richard's POV Living with Sarah and Isabelle under one roof felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. No matter what I said or did, someone was bound to get burned. Sarah's mood had soured over the past few weeks, her usual warmth replaced by sharp glares and clipped words.

Isabelle, on the other hand, wore this perpetual mask of sweetness that was starting to feel... off.

"Richard," Sarah said one morning, her voice low but edged. She was standing by the sink, her hand gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright. "Can we talk?" I can keep count of the "can we talk?" from her.

I sighed, setting my coffee down. Here we go again. "Sure. What's wrong now?" She flinched at my tone, but her expression hardened. "It's Isabelle. I can't do this anymore. She's too... involved." "Involved?" I echoed, frowning. "She's just trying to be helpful." Sarah's laugh was bitter, humorless. "Helpful? Richard, she knows things about us that we never told her. She's always around you, always watching. Don't you think that's strange?" "She's just observant," I said, though even as I said it, I felt a flicker of doubt. Isabelle had been unusually attentive lately, but I wasn't ready to turn that into something sinister. Sarah shook her head. "You're blind to it because she acts so sweet around you. But I see her for what she is. She's not spoor woman down on her luck-she's manipulative." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to stay calm. "Sarah, you're tired. This whole situation is stressful for you, I get that. But Isabelle's not the enemy here." Her eyes narrowed. "You're defending her. Again." "I'm not-" I stopped myself, realizing that raising my voice wasn't going to help. "Look, I'll talk to her, okay? If something she's doing is bothering you, I'll handle it." "You won't," Sarah said, her voice soft now but full of disappointment. "You're too busy trying to be the good guy." The tension didn't let up. If anything, it got worse.

Isabelle's behavior, which I'd written off as friendly, started to feel more calculated. She had this way of stepping into my personal space, touching my arm when she spoke or handingthings I didn't ask for. "Your coffee, Richard," she said one morning, setting a mug in front of me.

I blinked at the drink, perfectly made-just the right amount of cream and no sugar. "Thanks, but how did you...?" "Oh, I noticed how you take it," she said with a shy smile, like it was no big deal. "I like paying attention to the little things." It should've been a nice gesture, but it leftuneasy. She'd never asked how I liked my coffee.

When Sarah cinto the room moments later, she stopped in her tracks, her gaze darting betweenand Isabelle. "Am I interrupting something?" "No," I said quickly, standing up and moving away from the table.

Sarah's eyes lingered on Isabelle, who gave her the ssweet smile she always did. "Good morning, Sarah," she said brightly.

Sarah didn't respond.

*** Sarah's exhaustion was becoming impossible to ignore. She'd been pale and sluggish lately, and every tI asked if she was okay, she brushed it off. "I'm fine," she insisted one afternoon, though she looked anything but fine.

"You're not," I said, stepping closer. "You've been off for weeks now. Maybe you should see a doctor." Her eyes softened for a moment before the steel returned. "I don't need a doctor, Richard. I need Isabelle out of this house." I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Can we not do this right now? You're tired, and honestly, I don't have the energy for another argument." Sarah stared atlike I'd just slapped her. "You think I'm making this up? That I'm just being tic?" "I didn't say that," I said quickly, though the look on her face toldI might as well have.

"Forget it," she said, turning away. "Clearly, I can't get through to you." A couple of days later, I chto find Sarah sitting on the couch with a stack of papers in her lap. Her hands were trembling, and her face was pale. "What's going on?" I asked, dropping my keys on the table.

She didn't look up. "We need to talk." Yet again.

"Okay..." I said cautiously, sitting down beside her. "What's this about?" Before she could answer, Isabelle appeared in the doorway, her expression wide-eyed and innocent as always. "Oh, am I interrupting?" Sarah's jaw tightened, and she set the papers down. "No. We were just-" "Great," Isabelle said, stepping into the room. "I was wondering if you two wantedto make dinner tonight. I have this amazing recipe for chicken parmigiana." I glanced at Sarah, whose lips were pressed into a thin line. "That sounds great," I said, hoping to defuse the tension.

"Perfect," Isabelle said, her smile lingering a little too long.

Later that night, I found myself pacing the kitchen, my mind racing.

..Ο ΠΡ Sarah's frustration was starting to feel more justified. Isabelle's behavior wasn't overtly wrong, but it was...

unsettling. I couldn't shake the image of her smile when she interrupted our conversation earlier. It wasn't just a smile; it was a message.

I was still lost in thought when I heard a sound from the living room. Frowning, I walked over to find Isabelle sitting on the couch in the dark, her face buried in her hands.

"Isabelle?" I said, startled. She looked up, her eyes red and glossy. "Oh, Richard. I didn't mean for you to seelike this." "What's wrong?" I asked, stepping closer.

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes. "It's nothing. Just... memories, I guess. I've lost so much, and sometimes it's overwhelming." I hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Is there... something I can do to help?"

She looked at me, her expression heartbreakingly vulnerable "You're already helping. More than you know. I just... I don't want to lose you too." The words hung in the air, heavy and strange. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words cout.