The Nine O'Clock Husband - Chapter 6

Returning home, my parents didn’t question why I got divorced; they just looked at me with hearts full of pain.

My mother threw herself into my arms, crying like a child.

“You were such a beauty-loving person when you were little, always knew how to adorn yourself with flowers.”

“Does it still hurt now?”

I shook my head and hugged her back, but seeing the white strands in her hair made my heart ache.

I didn’t listen to them back then and insisted on marrying him, and now this is the result, causing them to worry about me.

Those events, I’ve lived through once, but I don’t have the courage to recount them again.

Fortunately, my parents didn’t press further; they just noticed how much weight I’d lost and fussed about making more dishes to help me gain it back.

I stayed at home for a long time, saying I’d forgotten, but in the dead of night, memories always crept back.

Jackson called me once, but it was to question me:

“Why did you sell that house? That was our home!”

I suppose he ran into the agent showing the house to potential buyers.

“With the person gone, what use is a home?”

I didn’t catch what Jackson said afterward, but that night, the agent messaged me saying they’d found a buyer.

My mom suggested I go out for a walk to clear my mind, and I agreed.

I didn’t go far, just to the mountain in the village, climbing to the top alone.

The sun bathed me in warmth and comfort.

The chirping of birds and the rustling of the wind became distinctly audible to me.

Since the disfigurement, I seldom went out; now it seemed I had shut myself away for too long.

I sat until the sun began to set, preparing to leave when a man called out to me.

“Hello, I’m Gabriel, here for some sketching, and I happened to include you in my painting.”

I took the painting Gabriel handed me, the vibrant colors filled me with a sense of life.

“Is this really me?”

He had painted the side of my face with the scar, adorning the wound with flowers; it was the first time I viewed myself from a third-person perspective.

And it didn’t seem so ugly after all.

“It is you. Though I don’t know why you’re unhappy, as long as we all hold onto hope, even barren entropy can sprout new buds. You are beautiful, believe in yourself.”

Gabriel’s sincere smile made me feel he wasn’t joking.

Feeling greatly encouraged, I nodded to him.

In the following days, I no longer hid at home, digging out my old clothes from the suitcase.

I visited several scenic spots in the village, and coincidentally, I ran into Gabriel each time.

In just a few days, I received several paintings.

Each one unique and charming, Gabriel said, they were all me.

The me that wouldn’t be changed by scars.

Life became quite pleasant, and I didn’t think of Jackson as often.

Just waiting for time to completely wash away the traces of pain.

But I never expected Jackson to show up.

That day, Gabriel was walking me home, and as I was saying goodbye to him, Jackson’s sinister voice rang out:

“Isabella, who is he?”

I looked up to see Jackson standing at my doorstep with a heap of gifts, my parents holding brooms, ready to fend him off.

Clearly, they weren’t welcoming him.

The smile on my face faded, and I looked at him coldly:

“Jackson, let me remind you, we’re divorced. You have no right to question my affairs.”

“And besides, you’re not welcome here, please leave immediately.”

My attitude was neither warm nor cold, but it was precisely what hurt Jackson the most.

His eyes reddened, as if deeply wounded: “It’s been such a short time, and you’ve already moved on? What about me?”

Anyone unaware might think I betrayed him, but he was the one who truly did wrong.

I couldn’t be bothered to answer his question, turning to go inside, ignoring his calls without a hint of softness.

That night, Jackson knelt at my doorstep all night, drawing a crowd from the village, and the gossip began to spread.