Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart
Chapter 68

Sarah pov.

We finally got home. As I stepped into the house, a strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity washed over me.

It was our old home-well, technically, Richard's home now. But every inch of it used to be ours, every corner filled with memories I'd tried so hard to pack away. Now, though, something felt off, like stepping back into a room where everything looked the same but nothing felt right.

I looked around, trying to pinpoint the changes. The walls were a different color-cool gray instead of the warm, sandy beige I had picked out together.

The furniture was sleeker, more modern, and arranged in a way that made the space feel more like a showroom than a home.

Small touches, too-abstract art on the walls where our wedding pictures used to hang, my flower pot, gone.

It was Susan's touch. I could tell. It was tasteful, sure, maybe even elegant, but it felt empty, devoid of any sense of belonging.

A pang hit me, unexpected and sharp. I hadn't anticipated feeling so... displaced.

I must've been standing there, staring, because Richard stepped in behind me, his voice soft. "You okay?"

I forced a smile, turning toward him. "Yeah. It's just... different."

He nodded, looking around like he was seeing it through my eyes. "It didn't feel right, honestly. I was meaning to change some things, but... I guess I didn't know where to start."

I glanced back at the walls, at the empty spots that used to hold the photos of our early days, of the vacations we'd taken, birthdays that had once filled this space and made it feel homely. Now, the walls were empty of us. I swallowed hard, determined not to let the past creep in and take over.

"Well," I said, trying to keep my voice light, "it seems like a good chance to start fresh, right?"

Richard's face softened as he nodded, his hand brushing my arm gently. "Yeah. You're right."

I looked back at him, feeling the old memories starting to fade and give way to something warmer, something new.

It wasn't the same, but maybe that was the point. Maybe it was time to stop holding onto what used to be and let ourselves build something different.

"So," I said, glancing around, a small grin breaking through, "where do we start?"

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I don't know. You're the design expert here."

I laughed, and the sound felt lighter than I'd expected. "Alright, don't be surprised if you end up with pink walls and a room full of throw pillows."

Richard's mock look of horror made me laugh again, and I felt alive. It felt good, this playful banter, the easy connection that had been missing for so long.

I felt a small spark of excitement as I imagined transforming this space-not to erase the past, but to add new layers, new memories.

"Okay," I said, crossing my arms as I surveyed the room with new eyes. "First thing, these walls. Gray's not really our style, is it?"

"Not even a little bit," he agreed, and I could see him relaxing too. "So what's the plan, interior designer?"

I tapped my chin thoughtfully, throwing him a mischievous look. "We need something warmer. How about... a deep green?"

He wrinkled his nose, considering. "Green? Like forest green?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Or something earthy, you know? Something that feels welcoming."

He smiled, that familiar smile that used to make my heart skip a beat. "Sounds perfect."

As we went from room to room, I realized how much I was looking forward to making this place feel like ours again.

We debated colors, and laughed about the things Susan had put up that just didn't fit-like an enormous, ornate mirror in the hallway. "Was she expecting royalty?" I asked, chuckling.

Richard smirked. "Apparently, it's a 'statement piece.""

I snorted, shaking my head. "The only statement it makes is 'Look how much money I spent on a mirror.""

He laughed, and for a moment, we were just us again, like none of the past hurt or misunderstandings had ever come between us.

I started to feel something new building between us-a hope, a small but growing belief that we could really, really make this work.

At one point, Richard paused, watching me as I took down some of Susan's stiff, carefully curated artwork, replacing it with a framed photo of the two of us from one of our trips to the coast. "I missed this, you know," he said, almost to himself.

I looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, a softness that wasn't always there before. "Missed what?"

He smiled, but it was tinged with something deeper. "This... us, I guess. You make this place feel like home."

A warm blush crept up my cheeks, and I looked away, pretending to adjust the photo on the wall. "Well," I said softly, "I missed it too."

We kept working, slowly transforming the house one little piece at a time. It was amazing how even the smallest changes could make a difference-a splash of color here, a new piece of furniture there.

Each room became a little more ours, a little less a shadow of the past.

As evening approached, we found ourselves back in the living room, admiring our work. I leaned against the wall, taking it all in-the cozy, worn-in furniture, the rich colors, the pictures that felt like pieces of our story hanging on the walls.

Richard came to stand beside me, and for a moment, we just stood there in silence, side by side, looking at the home we were creating together.

"Thank you for this," he said quietly, his voice filled with an honesty that took me by surprise.

I turned to him, tilting my head. "For what?"

"For giving us... this chance," he said, reaching out to gently take my hand. "I know I messed things up before. I know I don't deserve it. But... I'm glad we're here."

I looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the way he held my hand like it was something precious. A lump formed in my throat, but I forced myself to speak, to be just as open.

"I'm glad too," I said softly. "I mean, I'm scared, but... I don't want to run away from it this time."

His grip on my hand tightened just a little, and I felt a warmth spread through me, a feeling that maybe, for the first time in a long time, everything was going to be okay. Maybe even better than okay. We stood there in silence, our fingers intertwined. This wasn't just a house anymore-it was a fresh start, a new chapter.

And I realized then that I wasn't just here for the memories. I was here because I wanted to build something new, something that could last.

"So," Richard said finally, breaking the silence, "dinner?"

I laughed, shaking off the seriousness of the moment. "Sure. But you're cooking this time."

He chuckled, pulling me toward the kitchen. "I hope you like pasta."

We made pasta, and got settled watching some rom com after which we decided to continue the decorations and revamping the next day.