Chapter 1
Evelyn Hart married her father’s old army buddy.
She was eighteen that year; he was thirty.
People liked to say older men doted on their wives, and after the wedding, Evelyn’s life truly felt
drenched in sweetness.
If she offhandedly mentioned craving powdered donuts from that little shop on the west side of
Evermont, he’d drive across half the city after work just to bring them home for her.
When she kicked off the blankets in her sleep, he’d patiently tuck her in again and again.
When her cramps hit during her period, he’d rub her stomach with those strong, gun–calloused
hands and press a warm mug of milk into her palms.
The officer wives at the housing complex near Evermont Base couldn’t stop raving about her luck.
“Graham Sterling,” they’d tease, “you’ve gone and raised a little princess in that house of yours, haven’t you?”
Graham would only smile faintly, wiping apple juice from the corner of Evelyn’s mouth as she
munched beside him. “She’s still young, still figuring things out. It’s only right I look after her a
little more.”
But Evelyn knew he wasn’t always that gentle.
In the bedroom, under the soft glow of lamplight, he shed his calm, composed facade.
He would hold her close, unrelenting, pushing her until she whimpered and begged him to stop—
and even then, he didn’t always let her go.
She’d once overheard one of the neighbor wives whisper that the more a man “made a fuss” in that department, the more he cherished his wife.
The thought had melted her heart, dissolving her discomfort into a secret, guilty joy.
She thought their days would always be like that, sweet and blissful.
Until her mother’s funeral.
Evelyn cried herself nearly to fainting. Graham took leave to stand by her side, handling arrangements, her only anchor in the storm of grief.
At the service, dressed in a black dress, she could barely stand, leaning heavily on his strong arm.
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Then his aide, Frank Miller, rushed over and whispered something in his ear. Graham’s face changed instantly.
He let go of her. “Evelyn, Sophie’s divorced and has nowhere to go. She needs me right now. You… take care of yourself. I’ll be back.”
Sophie Monroe. His first love. Evelyn had heard her name before.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, he was already striding away with Frank, leaving her behind.
And he never came back.
After the funeral, Evelyn trudged home, drowning in grief for her mother and the sting of her
husband’s abandonment.
The mountain path was slick with mud, and lost in her pain, she didn’t see the root that caught her foot. She slipped and tumbled down the hillside.
When she woke, she was in the hospital.
Her head was wrapped in gauze, her leg broken, every movement stabbing pain through her body.
The doctor’s face was grim. “Ma’am, you’ve got a concussion and a fractured leg. We need to operate, but a family member has to sign off.”
Family? Graham was all she had.
The nurse dialed their home number for her. Once, no answer. Twice, still nothing. Call after call, only the endless drone of a busy signal.
He’s probably with Sophie, she thought. With each unanswered ring, her heart grew colder and heavier, sinking like a stone.
In the end, a kind neighbor, unable to bear her struggle, signed the forms with trembling hands.
When Evelyn was finally discharged, she limped back to the home that had once been her haven, her injured leg screaming with every step.
As she pushed open the gate, a familiar scent hit her–the rich, creamy aroma of chicken pot pie.
Her favorite. Her mother’s specialty.
Before she passed, her mother had mustered the strength to make one last batch, freezing
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individual portions for Evelyn. “Heat these up whenever you miss me,” she’d said.
Evelyn’s chest tightened, tears pricking her eyes. She fumbled with her keys, heart racing, and flung open the door.
Then she froze.
At the dining table, Graham sat with a small bowl, carefully spooning out the filling and feeding it
to another woman.
In that woman’s bowl was the last of her mother’s chicken pot pie–the final piece of her love, the treasure Evelyn had clung to so dearly.
She didn’t need to ask who the woman was. Sophie Monroe, his first love.
Sophie had gotten divorced, so he’d abandoned his wife at her mother’s funeral.
Sophie was sad and needed comfort, so he’d ignored thirty–six desperate calls from his injured
wife.
Sophie was hurting, so he’d brought her home and fed her the last gift Evelyn’s mother had left
her.
Her chest felt split wide open, cold wind howling through the gaping hole. Yet no pain came–only numbness, a bone–deep chill.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even glance at the pie again.
Instead, she turned, step by agonizing step,
Office.
gging her broken leg toward the County Clerk’s
“Hello, I’d like to file for a no–fault divorce,” she said.
The clerk looked at the pale, resolute young woman before her and tried to mediate. “You’re so young, miss. Can’t you and your husband work things out?”
“Please, just process the paperwork,” Evelyn cut in, her voice soft but unyielding. “I need this divorce.”
The clerk sighed and took the forms. “No–fault divorce requires a review process. You’ll receive a notice with the details.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn murmured, turning to leave.
The wind stung her face as she walked home, icy and sharp. Only then did she realize her cheeks were wet–she’d been crying without noticing.
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She stopped, leaning against a weathered wall, and wiped her tears with fierce determination.
Evelyn, don’t cry, she told herself. From now on, you’re on your own. You have to rely on yourself.
But the tears kept coming, maybe because her mind drifted back to the first day she met Graham.
She was thirteen, climbing a tree to raid a bird’s nest, when she fell. He caught her, steady and
strong, in his crisp uniform, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
Later, when he visited her father, she’d hide behind the curtain, stealing glances at the handsome,
stoic “uncle” who made her young heart flutter.
Years later, as her father lay dying, he gripped Graham’s hand, placed hers in it, and with tears in
his eyes said, “Graham, do me this one favor. I can’t rest easy leaving Evelyn alone. Will you… take care of her? Marry her, and I can go in peace.”
Graham had looked at her for a long moment before giving a solemn nod.
On their wedding day, he stood tall in his sharp military uniform, his insignias gleaming, his gaze
deep and steady.
Evelyn, in her white gown, waited under the floral arch, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her
dress, her heart pounding like it might burst.
That night, he came home early to their new shared house and sat on the edge of their bed,
looking at her with quiet intensity.
“Evelyn,” he began, his voice low and rich, carrying that crisp military edge, “there’s something I
need to make clear before we start this.”
She looked up at him, shy and uncertain.
“You’re young, and you haven’t been through love before. I’m different,” he said, pausing.
“I had someone, years ago. She chose to study art in the Silverpeak Federation, chasing her
dreams. I stayed here in the Northwyn Republic, stationed at Evermont Base.”
“We wanted different things, so we parted ways. But you don’t need to worry. I married you, and I’ll take responsibility for you. I’ll treat you well, and I won’t have anything to do with her anymore.”
His words were frank, almost detached–and oddly, that reassured her.
She thought of her father’s dying wish, of the years she’d spent secretly admiring him, and gave a small nod. “Okay,” she whispered.
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He let out a soft sigh, then reached out, his calloused fingers slowly unzipping her wedding dress.
When his rough fingertips brushed her skin, they both shivered slightly.
He was her first. His movements were careful, patient, gentler than his years might suggest. Even when he grew firm, he held back, mindful not to overwhelm her.
When pain brought tears to her eyes, he kissed them away, his voice hoarse as he soothed her. “Shh, it’ll be over soon, sweetheart.”
In the days that followed, Graham spoiled her like she was his own daughter, and she let herself sink into that warmth again and again.
But now?
One sentence from Sophie-“I’m divorced“-was enough to make him abandon her not once,
but three times.
He left her at her mother’s funeral.
He vanished when she lay injured in the hospital.
He gave away the last token of her mother’s love to another woman.
She might be young, but she understood one thing: you can’t build a home in someone else’s heart when it’s still occupied.
So, Graham Sterling? She was done with him.
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