My Husband Hurt Me for His Lover, But My 4-Year-Old Daughter Saved My Life
Helping them helped me. I learned again that the way through suffering isn’t to bury it, but to raise it like a torch for those still wandering in the dark.
In quiet moments, my thoughts drifted to Damon’s family. Even without looking, news reached me.
They said Eliza, after release, slipped away with her son, took a new name in a far-off town, and started over. The boy likely kept her going.
My former mother-in-law, worn down by loss and illness, died alone in a care home. And Damon: 20 years is a long stretch.
He’s serving his time behind steel and stone. I feel neither hatred nor satisfaction now; the fire has cooled to near indifference.
Their ending was of their own making. The past is like a flood that recedes and leaves silt behind, the residue of forgetting.
I learned to let it go. Not to absolve them, but to unchain my spirit.
Under Grandpa’s steady mentorship, my role in the group ceased to be a burden and became a passion. I proved to the world and to myself that I could stand on my own.
I was no longer merely the president’s granddaughter. I was Sophia Monroe, the CEO of the Monroe Group, who steered through a global economic crisis, sealed a multi-million dollar deal with partners in Japan, and grew the brand throughout Asia.
Professional triumph brought independence, but the sweetest moments were simple ones with family. One weekend, beneath a clear sky and a clean ocean breeze, Leila, Grandpa, and I drove to the California shore.
Instead of an opulent resort, we rented a small cottage near a garden of bougainvillea. The sun sank slowly, gilding sea and sky.
Ila teamed up with local kids to build a sprawling sandcastle. Her bell-like laughter mingled with the surf, a harmony of peace.
Grandpa and I shared a wooden bench and watched quietly. He had grown older: silver-white hair, yet clear eyes and the same gentle smile.
He no longer carried a conglomerate on his shoulders. He found happiness in gardening, books, and time with his only great-granddaughter.
“Look at her,” Grandpa said, pride brightening his gaze.
“She’s just like her great-grandmother, always cheerful and full of energy.” He said.
I rested my head on his shoulder, slender yet still my firmest support. “Thank you, Grandpa, for always being there, for giving everything to my daughter and me.” I said.
“Silly girl,” He said, smoothing my hair.
“You’ve earned your own happiness. You are the strongest and resilient person I know.” He told me.
We sat together, three generations bound by love and sacrifice, stronger than blood. Then a familiar baritone sounded behind us.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Alexander, Sophia. I hope I’m not interrupting.” The voice said.
I turned, and my pulse jumped before I could stop it. Marcus stood there, the gifted architect I’d met through Serenity Home.
He joined not as a contractor, but as a volunteer, using his free time to repair and design spaces for women in need. A kind, steady man with a generous heart, he knew my history and never looked at me with pity or prying curiosity, only with respect.
“Marcus!” I smiled, easy and natural.
“Just taking a stroll. Care to join us?” I asked.
Grandpa caught our glance and grinned. He rose, leaning on his cane.
“I’m going to see how our Leila’s castle is coming along. You two talk quietly.” He said.
He headed toward the beach, leaving us a little space. Marcus sat near me.
We watched the sun slip under the horizon, companionably quiet. It was a hush full of peace and mutual understanding.
“You look different today, Sophia,” He said at last.
“You’re not the strong vice president from the meeting room, nor the dedicated Sophia from the Serenity Home.” He added.
“And how do I look?” I asked, a touch intrigued.
“You look very serene, peaceful,” He said with sincere eyes.
“Like the sea after a storm.” He added.
A smile came and stayed without my noticing. No one had said that to me before.
With him, I didn’t have to act invulnerable. I could simply be a woman with wounds in soft places.
