Chapter 132
Clutching his phone, he headed back to the bedroom, where Megan was still in bed, pretending to be asleep. He softened his voice, “I’ve got to head out. Can you throw together an outfit for me?”
“Do it yourself!” Her voice was hoarse with sleep. “Sullivan, from now on, I’m not handling your personal life. Hire someone for your clothes and accessories. If it comes to it, bring Bianca over, pay her well to take care of it.”
Sullivan frowned, displeased. “I don’t like others meddling in my private affairs!”
Silence filled the bedroom,
After a moment, Megan’s voice was scratchy. “Well, then dislike it! I won’t do it. If you think it’s a waste of money to keep me around, go ahead, divorce me. Sullivan, I don’t need to be Mrs. Lowry!”
Sullivan stood silently. He thought he understood Megan’s point. She would stay and be Mrs. Lowry, but she wouldn’t serve him anymore. She wouldn’t even mind if Bianca became a part of their lives… She really didn’t see him as a husband anymore, did she? In her mind, it probably didn’t matter; he was a womanizer, and one more or less made no difference to him!
With a cold snort, Sullivan retorted, “You sure have a way of thinking!”
And with that, he went to the walk–in closet to change into a fresh set of clothes.
When he left, Megan didn’t even look at him.
Sullivan made a quick trip to the hospital, not staying long.
Cressida was in tears, and he was getting irritated. Besides, no one likes to be in the oppressive atmosphere of a hospital room, no matter how luxurious it is–it’s still a hospital.
Exiting the hospital, he settled into his car.
On the passenger seat was a paper bag containing the charred remains of their wedding photo and Megan’s diary. Despite the damage, Sullivan had found the best restorer and personally delivered them.
In a quaint little coffee shop, with the aroma of coffee lingering in the air, Sullivan sat cross–legged, staring intently at the restorer across from him.
The restorer inspected the items carefully with a magnifying glass, then finally removed his glasses and said with a smile, “Mr. Lowry, these items don’t hold any collectible value. The photo, yes, and the diary isn’t from any famous personality, so it’s not worth the high cost of restoration. Moreover, they’re too damaged to be properly restored. Perhaps you’d like to take them back?”
But Sullivan didn’t budge. He earnestly said, “These items are very important to me. Perhaps you could take another look, Kieran?”
To demonstrate his sincerity, he slid a check for ten million across the table.
Seeing the amount, the restorer, Kieran, sighed softly, “I’ll do my best. But Mr. Lowry, I can mend the paper, not the missing words. No amount of skill in restoration can mend the chapters of a marriage.”
At that moment, Sullivan felt an overwhelming sadness.
Later, as he sat in his car, the restorer’s words echoed in his mind… lingering long after the sun had set.
He sat there from dusk till the night grew cold and the windshield fogged up, only then snapping back to reality.
He checked his personal phone–numerous missed calls. Some from Bianca, some from his lawyer, and thirteen from Cressida… but not a single one from Megan.
Never before had Sullivan been so clear about one thing: Megan didn’t love him anymore.
She didn’t just love him anymore; she didn’t want him anymore, too!
