Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart
Chapters 43

Richard's

pov.

You want Sarah back, Richard, but it's not going to be easy. This is what I keep telling myself.

I should be used to challenges-my life has been full of them-but Sarah? She's different.

A different kind of challenge, one that leaves me feeling like I'm walking on eggshells around her.

But maybe that's my punishment. After all, I did mess things up pretty royally the first time around.

It all started with coffee. Simple, harmless coffee. I don't even drink the stuff, but there I was, meeting Sarah every week, pretending to care about things like her preferred roast or how many sugars she liked. "Black, no sugar, right?" I asked one morning, sliding her cup across the table like I had memorized the most crucial detail of our entire history.

She gave me a look, the kind that says, 'Really, Richard? You think that's going to win me points?' And, well, she was probably right.

"Yes, black," she replied, but there was a hint of a smile. Small victories. I'd take what I could get.

"So, how's the expansion going?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from awkward territory.

Her eyes lit up, and suddenly, she was talking about numbers and growth projections, stuff I didn't fully understand, but I nodded along, throwing in the occasional "That's great!" like I was actually keeping up. Truth be told, half of me was just marveling at how confident she had become.

"I'm really proud of you, you know," I said when she paused to take a breath.

There it was again, that look. But this time, there was a flicker of something else in her eyes-surprise, maybe? Or disbelief? I wasn't sure.

"Proud?" She raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about what I'm doing?"

Ouch. Fair question. "I've always cared, Sarah," I said, leaning forward slightly. "I just didn't show it. I know that now. I messed up."

I could see her weighing my words, deciding whether to believe me. And honestly, I couldn't blame her if she didn't.

***

The next few meetups followed a similar pattern. Coffee, small talk, a little business here and there.

Nothing too personal-she kept those walls up high. I could see that. She wasn't about to let me waltz back into her life without some serious effort.

But then, one day, out of nowhere, she opened the door. Just a crack, but it was something.

We were sitting in a little cafe near her office, talking about one of her upcoming projects. She was explaining something about market reach when she paused, her eyes drifting off toward the window. "You know," she started, "when we were married, I never thought you really... saw me. Not like this."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Saw you? What do you mean?"

She shrugged, swirling her coffee with a small spoon. "You were always so focused on your career, on Susan, on what you were doing. I felt like I was just... there. An afterthought."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up a hand.

"I'm not saying it to make you feel guilty. I've moved past it. But I'm realizing now, looking back, how much I let myself be sidelined. I won't do that again, Richard."

Hearing her say it-so bluntly-felt like a punch to the gut. The worst part? She wasn't wrong. I had taken her for granted. I just didn't see it then.

"I never meant to make you feel that way," I said quietly. "I was an idiot. I didn't know how to balance everything, and I made the wrong choices."

She looked at me, really looked at me, for what felt like the first time in a long time. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you realize it now. But it doesn't change anything. We're just... friends, Richard. That's all this is." Friends. Right. Sure. Whatever you say, Sarah.

Over the next few weeks, I did my best to respect her boundaries. Friends. I could do friends.

Maybe. Okay, not really, but I was willing to try if it meant I could stay close to her.

There was one time, though, when we were having lunch-just sandwiches at this little deli-and she laughed at something I said.

Not one of those polite, "I'm laughing because I have to" laughs, but a real, genuine laugh.

And for a second, I thought, This could work. We could get back to this. But then, just as quickly, she closed herself off again, and we were back to being "just friends."

I wasn't giving up, though. Not this time.

Look, I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. Big ones. Ones I can't even begin to justify. But if you asked me to pick the biggest one?

Without a doubt, it was how I treated Sarah. I'll admit it: I was awful. Cold. Distant. I didn't just fail as a husband-I barely even tried.

And now? Now I'm sitting here, sharing a table with her, pretending we can be "just friends" when all I want is to reach across this stupid cup of coffee and apologize for everything I did to her. But I know that's not how it works. Not after what I put her through.

"So, you're still seeing Susan?" she asked casually, sipping her coffee. But her eyes, those eyes, they'd always been too sharp. She was testing me, and I knew it.

"Susan? No." I shook my head. "We haven't talked in a long time."

She raised an eyebrow like she didn't quite believe me. Fair enough. I wouldn't believe me either.

"Right," she said, clearly not buying it. "Well, that's probably for the best."

She was not wrong. Susan wasn't the problem, though. I was. I let that whole mess happen, and Sarah paid the price.

But explaining that felt impossible without sounding like I was making excuses.

"Look, Sarah," I started, because I'd got to say something. "I know I was-"

"A jerk?" she cut in, her voice was surprisingly calm.

I flinched. "Yeah. That's... putting it mildly."

She stirred her coffee, her spoon clinking against the mug in a rhythmic pattern that made me feel even more nervous.

"You didn't just ignore me, Richard. You hated me. You couldn't even stand to be in the same room half the time."

She was not wrong again, and that was what stung the most. The memories I had of our marriage?

Most of them were bad. I'd walk out of the house just to avoid talking to her. I'd let her sit there, in our cold, silent home, waiting for something-anything-from me. And I gave her nothing. "Yeah, I know," I admitted, swallowing hard. "I didn't touch you. I didn't talk to you. I was... a coward."

Sarah's gaze flicked to mine, but she didn't say anything. Maybe she was waiting for me to dig deeper. Maybe she was just tired of hearing my excuses.

"Back then, I thought if I just... ignored it, ignored us, I wouldn't have to deal with anything. But all I did was hurt you, and I see that now."

I paused, but Sarah didn't fill the silence, so I kept going. "I didn't want to be with you because I was too wrapped up in my own world. With Susan. With... whatever else I was chasing."

I could feel her eyes on me, but I was afraid to meet them. There was nothing worse than realizing how blind you were to someone's pain, and I was blind. Completely. "And now?" she asked, her voice softer than I expected.

"Now?" I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Now I see how much I threw away. How much I took for granted. You deserved more than that, Sarah. You still do."