My Water Broke During His Ex's Hostage Crisis

Chapter 9

After that day, I completely put Gavin Sullivan and Jennifer Carter out of my mind.

The new SIM card sat eerily silent.

I settled into a quiet life with my daughter at the nanny's house—a simple countryside cottage. It wasn't much, but it was peaceful.

The nanny's husband worked away all year, and her son had gone abroad for school, leaving just the three of us to share the spacious yard.

Each morning, I held Jessica as we watched the chickens and ducks fight over scraps of food. In the afternoons, I taught her how to observe the ants marching under the grapevine.

This simple, no-frills life unexpectedly brought me a deep sense of peace—something I hadn't realized I'd been craving.

It wasn't until Jessica's first birthday that I returned to the city—a place filled with so many memories.

As soon as I turned on my phone, WhatsApp notifications flooded in like a storm, filling the screen until it blacked out.

Without hesitating, I cleared all the messages and sent Gavin a short text: "I'm back. Let's meet at the Civil Affairs Bureau to finalize things."

No reply.

Just as I started to wonder if he had dropped dead somewhere, the doorbell rang violently.

My hands shook, nearly dropping Jessica. The nanny quickly took her and retreated into the back room, while I steadied myself and opened the door.

Standing there was a man who was almost unrecognizable.

Gavin leaned on a crutch, his right pant leg empty, his face unshaven, and his eyes sunken like dark holes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I stepped aside.

"Come in."

In the living room, I poured him a cup of Longjing tea. The steam swirled between us, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the elegant man who used to sit on the balcony reading seven years ago.

But now, the man sitting across from me was a broken shell, crushed by life.

"Yvonne…" His voice trembled. "Don't divorce me. I know I was wrong—"

I took a slow sip of tea.

"Raising my daughter alone is hard enough. I don't have the energy to take care of a cripple too."

The words hit him like a slap. He visibly deflated, his empty pant leg swaying slightly.

"We can renegotiate the asset split," I said, setting my cup down. "Originally, it was 60-40 in my favor. Now, we'll reverse it."

"You hate me that much?" His voice cracked.

"I nearly died in the ICU, and you just took our child and left!"

I pulled up a video on my phone and slid it toward him. The footage showed a trail of blood smeared across the floor as I struggled while Gavin walked away without a backward glance.

By the time he finished watching, he looked like his spine had been ripped out. He slumped on the sofa, motionless.

"You can have visitation rights," I added calmly. "Once a month. When she's older, she can decide if she wants to see you more."

The light in Gavin's eyes flickered and died.

Finally, he rasped, "Nine o'clock tomorrow. Civil Affairs Bureau."

As soon as he left, my phone rang. The caller ID showed Lina Yue, the wife of one of Gavin's friends—a woman I barely knew.

She practically squealed with excitement. "Girl, you are legendary! Do you know Gavin spent millions on medical bills after you left? His parents had to sell their house!"

I listened quietly as she spilled all the gossip: Jennifer had pretended to care for him for less than a month before fleeing abroad, contributing nothing to his treatment. In the end, it was Gavin's friends who had to pool their money to save him.

After hanging up, I stared out at the plane trees outside.

None of this melodrama surprised me.

As long as I wasn't stuck with his debts, the rest didn't matter.

The next day, Gavin kept his word—insisting on the original 60-40 split. His eyes were red when he signed, but I didn't spare him a single glance.

As we stepped out of the bureau, he suddenly asked, "Can I see Jessica today?"

I had the nanny bring her downstairs.

Gavin's hand shook as he reached out to touch her face, but he stopped halfway.

"If I hadn't left that day—"

"My daughter could have had a complete family," I interrupted him, my voice steady. "But it's too late for that now."

After that, Gavin visited faithfully every month. Once, he asked to take Jessica back to his hometown, but I refused outright.

It wasn't until she turned six that I let her decide for herself.

Unfortunately, during that visit, her grandfather hurled vicious insults at me in front of her. After that, she never wanted to see the Sullivans again.

Gavin's visits grew more sporadic after he remarried—a woman with her own baggage, from what I heard, and his life turned into a mess.

Meanwhile, Jessica and I traveled halfway across the world, our passports stamped with countless visas.

One day, as she played on her tablet in my lap, she suddenly looked up and asked, "Mommy, why don't I have a dad?"

My chest tightened—until she grinned mischievously.

"But I have seven godfathers! That half-model uncle who visited last week said he'll be my eighth!"

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, gilding her hair.

And suddenly, I realized—this life wasn't so bad after all.