After three years of marriage, Evelyn finally got pregnant.
She thought it would be the happiest day of her life until her own husband’s hands pushed into hell her.
Evelyn went to the company to inform Alain about her pregnancy, only to be met with the sight of him having sex with his secretary. Alain had betrayed her.
“Let’s get a divorce,” he said, the three years of affection crushed like worthless paper.
He showed no shame as he continued his affair right in front of her, under the guise of nakedness.
“Fine,” Evelyn agreed. She looked proud and aloof. She swallowed the news of her pregnancy, holding it tight in her throat without uttering a word. But as she turned away, she burst into tears.
She returned home, prepared the divorce papers, signed them, packed her belongings, and left. But on the way, Evelyn fainted because of her foetal derangement. A kind man took her to the hospital and left her with a beautiful wish. Other than that, she knew nothing about him.
Five years later, Evelyn had a successful career and a peaceful life with her young son - Dennis. But one day, her son brought a strange man home, none other than Alain!
Evelyn was stunned. Her ex-husband had returned, shamelessly begging her for forgiveness, wanting to regain her and Dennis. He wanted her to come back to him.
But Evelyn didn’t agree. Despite Alain’s coercion, she refused. And at that moment, “he” suddenly appeared, unexpectedly and silently as he did five years ago. He pulled her up from the depths and slapped her ex-husband directly in the face with one sentence: “You’re not worthy of her.”
...
Umee: Hi there! First of all, thank you for the interest and for the enthusiasm. Truly. Every time I open my comments and see new invitations to add Discord, buy promotion packages, commission comic adaptations, or “have a quick chat,” I’m reminded that my story has somehow wandered into a very busy marketplace.

That said, I should probably set expectations gently before anyone invests too much energy. I’m not looking for promotion services, paid advertising or commissioned artwork. Not because they’re bad ideas, just because they’re not ideas I currently need. I don’t have the budget, the urgency or the illusion that my story is secretly one step away from becoming the next global phenomenon.

I’m very aware of where my work stands. It’s doing okay. Respectably okay. Not “adapt-everything-immediately” okay. My passion for writing exists but it hasn’t reached the stage where common sense quietly exits the room. I promise I’m not underestimating myself, I’m simply being realistic, which is a personality trait I’ve grown quite attached to.

Another small but important thing: I’m not really interested in chatting, exchanging ideas, networking, or building creative alliances in private messages. I write best when left alone. I think best when no one is pitching anything to me. And I function best when my inbox is not screaming for attention. So if I don’t reply, please know it’s not personal, it’s just me choosing silence over small talk.

That being said, if you’re genuinely curious about me rather than what I can potentially become or produce, if you want to see my everyday life, random thoughts, quiet moments and the unmarketable parts of my existence, I do have my Instagram linked in my bio. You’re welcome to follow it. No proposals required. No introductions needed. Just observation, at your own pace.

I truly wish you the best with your creative work, your art, your promotions, and your ambitions. Creating something and trying to get it seen is hard, I respect that deeply. I just prefer to walk my path slowly, quietly, and without turning every interaction into a business opportunity.

Thank you for understanding, for stopping by, and for letting me return peacefully to my writing corner, where the only thing I’m selling is words.

I looked at Dennis with deep affection and gratitude as he said, "Mom, I read the letter you gave me, and I also wrote one for you."


I was surprised and touched. "Really, Dennis? You wrote me a letter?"


Dennis nodded, handing me the letter. "Here, Mom. I'm sorry for what happened today."


I took the letter from Dennis, my eyes full of emotion. "Thank you, Dennis. I'm sorry too, for the things I said and did today."


Dennis smiled, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay, Mom. Don't worry too much. Why don't you order some takeout for dinner, and I'll clean up the table?"


A sense of relief washed over me as I heard those words from my son. "Thank you, Dennis. I'll do just that."


Dennis began to clear the table while I placed an order for dinner. A feeling of peace and warmth spread through my heart. Dennis was truly my greatest source of strength.


Chapter 18 - Chapter 18: When Trust Felt Too Expensive.