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Dear Ex Wife Please take me back by The Every Woman

Chapter 91
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Chapter 91 ~ Are you proud?

ATHEN

"Hi mum, Dad."

The words leave my mouth barely above a whisper as | crouch beside the two headstones, brushing away the

dried leaves clinging to their bases.

| was given a leave day so | could visit my parents’ grave. for their memorial | chere every year and sadly

this is the first tI've visited with good news.

Tears blur my vision as | trace my fingers over the engraved names

Elena and Marcus Dawson

My parents.

My everything.

"I'm sorry," | whisper, my voice cracking like brittle glass. "I should've csooner."

The guilt coils tighter in my chest, like a vice. Last year, | couldn't bring myself to step foot here.

| was drowning in pain, in fear, in the crushing weight of being told | had killed my

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own son.

"Carry on the legacy." Mum always said to me, but how can | when | can barely hold myself together?

Every night, as | cried myself to sleep, | could hear Dad's voice in my head, stern but kind, tellingto stand

tall. | could see Mum's soft smile, always believing ineven when | didn't believe in myself.

But they aren't here.

I'm so alone.

The wind picks up slightly, rustling the trees as if they're responding. My arms wrap around myself as | kneel

there, broken and small in the cemetery

"I, uh... I scrubbed in today," | say, forcing a small smile as | tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "It was a tough

one. Thoracic. Complicated. But I... | did well."

My voice cracks at the end, and | bite my lip, shaking my head with a soft laugh. "You'd be proud," | add, staring

at the names carved in stone. "I know you would." "I just wish you were here to hug me." | choke. "I wish | could

chand tell you everything. | wish | wasn't always walking around pretending I'm fine when inside I'm..."

My words trail off, swallowed by the ache in my chest.

A tear slips down my cheek, then another. | don't bother wiping them away. They fall freely now, soaking into the

collar of my coat, tracing the curve of my chin.

"I miss you. God, | miss you both so much."

The breeze brushes past me, soft like fingers through hair, and for a second, almost believe it's my mum's hand

on my shoulder. Or Dad standing beside me, arms crossed, beaming with that quiet pride he always had

whenever | won a science fair or aced an exam.

"I still remember how you both used to freak out every t| so much as grazed my knee," | say, my voice

trembling. "And now... now | hold hearts in my hands, and stitch lives back together. You'd probably faint."

A laugh escapes me, watery and broken. My knees press into the cold grass as |

sit properly, folding my legs under me. My fingers trace the letters of their names like I'm trying to memorize

them again.

"| miss you."

"I miss everything," | whisper. "Your voices. Your hugs. The way Dad used to hum when he cooked. The way Mum

always knew when | was lying... even when | didn't know myself."

Tears spill over, warm and angry.

| press a hand to my mouth to muffle the sob, curling into myself slightly. "Sometimes, | do all these incredible

things, and I look around, waiting for someone to tell. But you're not here. You're not anywhere. And it just hurts.

"I hope you see me. Wherever you are. | hope you see everything."

| close my eyes for a moment, letting the silence wrap around me.

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"I'm better now. So, there is no need to worry about me. | love you guys so much."

When I finally stand, brushing off my jeans, my voice is low, but my chest feels lighter.

"I'll cagain soon," | promise. "And next time... I'll tell you more. Everything. Even the messy stuff."

| lean down and press a kiss to each headstone.

As | turn to leave, the quiet crunch of gravel under shoes draws my attention.

"Athena," a voice calls out low and unfamilia

| freeze mid-step, my heart giving a small jolt as | spin around.

An older man stands a few paces away, dressed in a worn trench coat, hands tucked deep in his pockets His

silver-streaked hair and weathered face give him the look of someone who has seen more than his share of life.

He looks to be in his sixties, maybe older, but his posture is steady, almost military-like.

My brows draw together. "I'm sorry, do I... know you?"

The man doesn't answer the question. He simply looks at me, eyes solemn. "Cwith me."

| blink, stepping back instinctively. "What? No. I'm not just going to follow sstranger-"

"I'm not a stranger to your parents," he interrupts gently but firmly. "Elena and Marcus gavea task. A

promise, actually. Something | was meant to give you ten years after they passed."