Chapter 2Back to Let You Go

Though Eleanor and I had raised three children, we hadn’t gotten a proper marriage license for over a decade. Back then, all it took was her father’s approval and a written marriage contract. Annulling it was simple. All we needed was his nod.

"Even after all this, you still won't agree, you spineless…" Eleanor’s tirade faltered as my words finally registered. She stopped mid-insult.

She shot me a surprised look, the hostility in her eyes lessening just a fraction. "Good, you've finally come to your senses," she said, her tone shifting. "If you behave, I might consider your years of service to this family and make sure you don't starve."

Her words were as arrogant as ever. Just like on our wedding day, when she stood beside me, a beautiful, untouchable statue of ice. The birth of our children had thawed her slightly; we lived as courteous strangers, sharing a roof but not a life.

Then, six months ago, Andrea had arrived. Hired as a tutor for the children, he immediately caught Eleanor's eye.

From that moment on, she despised my lack of formal education. I couldn't discuss foreign literature with her; all I was good for was fetching her tea and massaging her tired shoulders. I studied cuisines from around the world to please her palate; she complained I smelled of kitchen grease. I spent a fortune importing a rare cologne from France just to see her smile.

She took it from me and gave it to Andrea. "Things of this quality," she'd said, "are meant for cultured, educated men."

Andrea would fold a simple paper flower, hand it to her with a flourish, and murmur, "A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman." She would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl.

I planted an entire garden of roses for her, a breathtaking sea of color under the sun. She mocked me for it, calling me a pathetic, posturing clown.

In her eyes, I could do nothing right. Even the sound of my breathing grated on her. She said I was loud as an ox and belonged in a barn, not a house.

She saw me through a lens of prejudice. Andrea was her perfect man.

She was blind to the truth. No one is perfect. The more perfect someone seems, the more likely they are a carefully crafted trap.

In my last life, during my time in that desolate nursing home, I was consumed by a need for answers. I'd spent my last ounce of energy investigating Andrea and found a mountain of evidence. He was a grifter, a con man who left a trail of financial ruin wherever he went. But by then, it was too late. When I showed the proof to my family, they accused me of slander.

The memories still stung, a fresh wave of injustice washing over me.

Mr. Ashford's voice pulled me back to the present. "Jacob, don't be hasty. Think of your three children. What will happen to them if you two separate?"

A triumphant smile finally broke across Eleanor’s face. "Don't worry, Father. The children are very sensible. They feel the same way I do. They adore Andrea."

She leaned forward. "If you don't believe me, I'll call them in. They can tell you themselves."

A few moments later, the children entered, but they weren't alone. The elegant, scholarly Andrea was with them.

Mr. Ashford erupted. "Get out! This is a private family matter. You have no place here, outsider!"

Before he could continue, our eldest son, Daniel, stepped in front of Andrea. "Uncle Andrea isn't an outsider."

Our second son, Leo, sniffled. "Grandpa, please, we wanted him to come. Don't make him leave."

And our youngest, Lily, nestled in Andrea's arms, pointed a tiny finger at me. "I don't want that dirty beggar!" she chirped. "I want Uncle Andrea to be our daddy."

Even knowing this was coming, seeing it with my own eyes—the children I had raised and protected siding with a stranger, shaming their own father—was a bitter pill to swallow.

I looked at them, and they instinctively flinched, hiding the candy in their hands behind their backs.

So that was it. Andrea indulged their every whim. They constantly complained of toothaches, so I was strict about sugar. Because of me, not one of them had a single cavity. But when they were older, they wrote bitter diary entries about my "tyranny."

It’s all genetic anyway. My friend eats candy for breakfast and never brushes her teeth, and she’s fine. My dad never bought us sweets, and if he caught us not brushing, we’d get a spanking. The pain of a toxic childhood…

Thinking of this, I looked away. I wouldn't interfere again.

Andrea shot me a smug glance, then gently chided the children. "You mustn't be rude to your elders. If you do that again, Uncle won't like you anymore."

They immediately fell silent, chastened.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow at her father. "You see? Jacob only knows how to use brute force. The children are afraid of him. Andrea uses modern, scientific methods. He is far better suited to be their father."

Mr. Ashford, who had been so vehemently opposed, now fell silent.

Eleanor turned her gaze back to me. "Jacob, you were brought into this family. After the divorce, the children will stay with me. Do you have any objections?"

The children stared at me, their eyes wide with alarm, terrified I might try to take them.

I smiled, a hollow, empty thing. "That's perfectly reasonable," I said, nodding. "I have no objections."

Defeated, Mr. Ashford could only agree.

When the marriage contract was brought out, he hesitated one last time. He looked at his daughter, his voice grave. "This contract is the only thing binding you. Once it's torn, it's over. Are you absolutely sure you won't regret this?"