Regretting the Wife He Threw Away

Briony nodded. "Try to talk to Dr. Clarke, will you? Star's had a few drinks-she's not thinking straight. Don't take her words to heart."

"Alright." Stewart pushed open the door and stepped inside.

In the media room, the once-loving couple were now locked in a furious argument, faces flushed and voices raised.

Stella sat on the sofa, her face buried in her hands, sobbing. Cedric Clarke stood across from her, arms akimbo, his expression dark and stormy, chest heaving with anger.

There were no winners in this fight.

Once, they had loved each other fiercely. Now, only their cruelest words remained, cutting deeper than any blade.

Broken glass glinted on the floor, the sharp tang of spilled liquor hanging in the air. Through the open door, the heart-wrenching cries of a child echoed from outside. That sound pulled Stella and Cedric back from the edge, snapping the spell of their rage.

"Ms. Joyner's been drinking-her words don't count for much right now. Let it go," Stewart said quietly, stepping over to Cedric and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Cedric wiped a hand over his face, as if trying to clear his head.

He was just as lost in his anger. He was the one who'd smashed the bottle. Now, regret gnawed at him.

Stella stood by the coffee table, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

Cedric looked at her, a heavy ache settling in his chest.

"Star, I-"

brushed past him, and headed straight

his mother and, for a

rush to scoop

a few seconds, when she didn't come to him, the wailing started again—louder, more

as Stella reached for her son, pulling him into

against her, hiccuping and whimpering, nuzzling into

still forced herself to soothe him in a trembling whisper. "Aster, sweetheart, you're a big boy

how could he

wanted,

faster, hot and

me!" she sobbed, clutching

hadn't expected things

an arm around Stella's shoulders. "It's alright, love. He's just tired and fussy, that's all. He's foo little to know any better. Let's get him to sleep first,

Briony, lips pressed

her anger out on her son. She knew, too, that right now, there was no choice but to try to settle him. He was just a baby, after all, but she'd been drinking-she couldn't nurse him anymore

to

formula was ready, Stella took it

Stella sat at the foot of the bed, holding her son in one arm, bottle in the

who'd been breastfed all