Chapter 31 A Point Of No Return
Claire
The moment the door closed between us, Ian remained standing near it while I walked over and sat on the bed.
“The kids aren’t buying it,” I said quietly. Isabella’s questions had been weighing on me, and I could feel it now—they were close to finding out about our marital troubles.
“Maybe if you acted like a loving wife, they wouldn’t suspect anything,” he replied, his voice weary.
“Oh really?” I shot back. “And who says you couldn’t act like a loving husband?”
He let out a slow, humorless chuckle.
“You’ve really changed, Claire. Tell me—what made you change?” he asked.
I looked him over, the answer resting heavily on my tongue. “You did, Ian. Don’t pretend you don’t know,” I said.
He nodded once.
“The kids should be in their rooms by now. I’ll be leaving,” he said, clearly unwilling to talk any further—unwilling to face how he had broken our marriage beyond repair.
He opened the door and closed it behind him as he stepped out.
I drew in a deep breath. Tomorrow, I would have to play my role well. I had to set my irritation with Ian aside. I didn’t want the kids worrying—especially since they’d only be home for three weeks. I just needed to act the way I used to.
But how did I act?
It hadn’t been that long ago, yet I could barely remember. That version of me felt distant, almost unreal. Maybe it was because I no longer had love or respect for Ian. That had to be it.
I sighed heavily. I needed to clear my head—needed to forget certain things that were already giving me a headache.
My gaze drifted to my phone.
I knew exactly who could make me forget—Liam.
But if I called him, what would I even say? What did I really want from him?
Instinctively, I reached for my phone. Just as my fingers were about to touch it, my bedroom door opened.
Was Ian back?
I turned sharply, irritation ready on my face—until I saw who it was.
“Isabella?”
Something was off. She was breathing heavily.
“Where’s Dad?” she asked.
My eyes widened. “Is something wrong?” I asked quickly.
She shook her head, and I answered with a lie. “He went downstairs to get a drink.”
The moment the words left my mouth, a tear slipped down Isabella’s cheek.
I stood up immediately. “Why? Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I asked, moving toward her.
Tears streamed freely now. “You and Dad are really fighting, Mom,” she said, and I searched her face, my chest tightening.
“Dad didn’t go downstairs,” she continued. “He went to the guest room.”
At that, my heart froze.
Isabella had seen him.
I didn’t know what else to say, so I simply stared at her.
“Is it that bad?” she asked softly.
There was no way I could tell her everything that had been happening in this house. I could only give her a piece of the truth—carefully leaving out the reason behind it.
I let out a deep sigh and turned back toward the bed, sitting down and gesturing for her to join me. She walked over and sat beside me, close enough that I could feel her warmth.
“It’s nothing serious, Isa,” I said.
She shook her head immediately. “Then why isn’t Dad sleeping here?”
I looked at her, my gaze steady, not wavering for a second.
“Because I told him to,” I said.
She stared at me, clearly waiting for more.
“Your father is serving his punishment for not making time for me,” I added.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh… so that’s it?” she asked.
I nodded.
“When was the last time he called you and Max?” I asked.
She stared off for a moment, thinking. “Yeah… that’s true. He really hasn’t been calling like he used to. Most times, we were the ones reaching out,” she said, nodding slowly.
I let out a light chuckle. “Exactly. That’s why he’s on timeout.”
I could feel the tension in the room ease, and it worked—she laughed softly.
“Don’t you think the timeout is a bit too harsh on him?” she asked, wiping away the last of her tears.
I forced a smile onto my face. “Alright then. I’ll lift it tomorrow.”
She laughed, looking relieved as she met my eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I don’t think I’d ever want to see the two of you fight.”
The moment the words left her mouth, a heavy lump formed in my throat, and I had to swallow hard.
If the children ever found out how far their father and I had drifted apart, it would shatter them. I had already lost my husband—I couldn’t afford to lose my children too.
“Well, I should head to my room now,” she said, getting to her feet.
I lifted my head to look at her. “Yes, dear. Get some good rest. Goodnight, my love. We’ll talk properly tomorrow.”
She nodded with a small smile. “Goodnight, Mom.”
After she left and the door clicked shut behind her, I pressed a hand to my chest, steadying my breathing.
I had to keep pretending everything was fine—for their sake.
Take a deep breath, Claire.
I barely slept through the night, my mind replaying how today would unfold—how I would face him, kiss that lunatic, and pretend everything between us was perfectly fine.
Morning came too soon.
I woke earlier than everyone else and began preparing for the day. Luppy soon joined me, and before long, the house stirred awake. I went around greeting the kids, pulling them into warm good-morning hugs. Laughter filled the house, and Max barely left my side.
Then Ian stepped out.
The moment his eyes landed on us, he smiled. “It seems everyone is awake.”
That was my cue.
I smiled back, soft and sheepish. “Took you long enough to wake up, love.”
My feet carried me toward him before I could overthink it. He bent down, and his lips brushed mine in a kiss.
Just an act, I reminded myself. Nothing more.
Thankfully, it was quick.
“Let’s go eat breakfast,” I announced.
“Alright!” Riette exclaimed.
As we ate, I couldn’t ignore the weight of Ian’s gaze on me. His eyes kept following me, studying me. I wondered why, but I forced myself not to dwell on it.
It wasn’t until later—when we were finally alone—that I understood.
We were in our bedroom.
And lying on the bed was a photograph.
A photograph of none other than Liam.
“The mail just came in,” he said, picking up a stack of files from the bed. “And this is what was inside, Claire.”
My eyes followed the papers in his hand.
“Liam King. Twenty-eight years old. No solid background—couldn’t get much on him,” he continued, his face twisted with open disgust.
“When the private investigator called me this morning to say he’d sent everything over, that was when I finally knew you weren’t lying.” He stepped closer, anger burning in his eyes. “It seems you weren’t joking at all. You really went ahead and got yourself a fuckboy.”
I watched him rant and simply sighed.
“Are you angry, Ian?” I asked.
He froze, his stare locking onto mine.
“You shouldn’t be,” I added calmly. “You started this. You caused it.”
I didn’t want an argument—not today—but here we were.
“Really?” he snapped. “You have no shame, Claire. You’re a mother, and you do this? You’re shameless.” he said bitterly.
I almost laughed. Coming from him.
“You’re just angry,” I shot back, “because he’s younger and more handsome. Get a grip.”
That did it.
The moment the words left my mouth, his hand connected with my face. The slap echoed as my head snapped to the side, his breathing heavy and uneven.
“Don’t you dare compare me to that asshole,” he growled.
I blinked, stunned by what he had just done. The sting on my cheek told me it would leave a mark, and the realization made my chest ache with disgust.
He had actually hit me.
Without thinking—without caring—I swung back. But the moment I did, he caught my wrist midair. The feel of his hand on me made my skin crawl.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” I spat.
He released me immediately and stepped back.
“That’ll teach you not to provoke me,” he said coldly.
My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“This,” I said steadily, “is where I draw the line, Ian.”
My words didn’t soften his expression, not even a little.
“From this moment on, you cease to be my husband—except on paper.”
I watched him swallow.
And I meant every word.
Even if the children eventually find out. Even if the truth comes crashing down later. I will never mend things with Ian.
We have crossed the point of no return.