Dear ex-Wife please be mine again

Chapter 3

Two weeks had passed since my world had crumbled to dust. My days were now spent scrubbing floors and sweeping at dingy restaurant, the smell of grease and old food clinging to my clothes.

My boss, a perpetually sour–faced woman named Karen, took every opportunity to remind me of my fall from grace. We were only two waiters and one was on leave.

“Christiana, get over here and clean this mess!” Karen barked, pointing to a spill near the kitchen. “And hurry up! Table three is waiting for their drinks!”

The restaurant was overwhelming, with rowdy customers demanding my attention. I rushed from table to table, my hands red and raw from constant cleaning, trying to keep up with the never–ending stream of orders and complaints.

“Miss! Where’s my coffee?” a gruff man called out, waving his hand impatiently. “And bring some more napkins while you’re at

it!”

As I hurried to fulfill the customers‘ requests, the sound of the television caught my ear. The news anchor’s voice cut through the chaos, and my heart sank as I recognized the topic of discussion.

“In today’s celebrity news, billionaire Alex Davis has finalized his divorce from his wife Christiana Davis and is now officially with fashion icon Bianca.

I froze, the tray in my hands trembling. On the screen, images and videos of Alex and Bianca flashed by, the two of them looking every bit the perfect couple. They smiled for the cameras, their hands entwined, their eyes filled with a happiness that felt like a knife twisting in my heart.

The customers around me began to chatter, their voices blending into a cacophony of judgment and gossip.

“Did you hear about Alex Davis? Finally got rid of that wife of his,” one man said with a laugh. “Can’t blame him, though. She couldn’t even give him a kid.”

in. “Bianca is a much better match for him.

humiliation and pain as I listened to their cruel words. They didn’t know they were talking about me, the

ex–wife of his, a lone voice spoke up. I turned to see a middle–aged woman shaking her head. “Imagine how she must feel, seeing her husband

shrill voice snapped me back to reality. “Christiana, stop dawdling and get back to work! Those tables won’t serve

customers, their words echoed in my mind, each

my misery. How had things gone so wrong? How could the man I had loved

She had always

was almost unbearable, but I held myself together, refusing to

now living. I scrubbed the floors harder,

and emotionally. I sank into a chair in the back of the restaurant, the weight of the day

a deep breath and stared at my reflection in

to my aid when I needed it most. Friends turned their backs, and even those I thought I could rely on had chosen sides, believing

12

10:17 PM c

Chapter å

offered me food

dignity while performing menial tasks, enduring

shift, I found myself staring into the bathroom mirror, my reflection a ghost of the woman I once

it to the toilet before retching violently. My body trembled, and I felt weak and lightheaded as I sat on the cold tile floor, trying to regain

surreal. Dr. Patel, a kindly older man with a gentle demeanor,