Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart
Chapter 70

Richard's

pov.

The house felt different, brighter maybe, even with all the dust and spray paint cans scattered around.

I leaned back, watching Sarah go from corner to corner, eyeing each wall with a level of focus that honestly made me smile. It was like watching her unlock some creative part of herself I hadn't seen in years. "Okay, I think I'll leave you two to the heavy lifting," she said with a small grin, dusting off her hands. "I've got some painting to finish upstairs."

I caught her arm, meeting her eyes. "Don't strain yourself up there. Call if you need anything moved."

She just rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine. You two have got this."

With that, she left us, disappearing up the stairs and leaving me and Martins to face the chaos of unpacked boxes and mismatched furniture in the living room.

Martins gave a low whistle. "She's serious about making this place hers, isn't she?"

I nodded, folding my arms. "Yeah, and... I'm grateful for it." The words slipped out, maybe a little more vulnerable than I intended.

I glanced at Martins, and he raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What? It's true."

"No, no, I get it," he said, still grinning. "Look at you, all grateful and reformed."

"Shut up," I chuckled, shaking my head. But he wasn't wrong. Seeing her throw herself into making this place her own again made something warm and steady settle in my chest.

It was like the pieces of us, of everything I'd let slip, were slowly finding their way back.

Martins nudged me with his elbow. "She's really giving you another shot, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "It's... a lot to take in. I didn't think I'd get a second chance, honestly."

"Yeah?" he said, kicking back on the couch. "So, what are you gonna do to make sure you don't blow it this time?"

I took a deep breath. "Good question." I paused, then shrugged. "Honestly? I'm just taking it one day at a time. Trying to listen more, not just assume I know everything." Martins gave me a thoughtful look. "You really sound different, you know that?"

I laughed a little, rubbing the back of my neck. "Guess that's what happens when you've got everything to lose. Makes you rethink how you act."

He chuckled. "Well, man, she's lucky. You're lucky too. I mean, look at you two. Moving boxes and picking paint like you're teens just starting out." "Yeah," I said, feeling that warmth in my chest again. "Feels like a reset button, honestly."

Martins clapped me on the back, his expression softening. "Well, here's to the new start then. Just don't screw it up, alright?"

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the confidence boost. But honestly, I'm not planning on going back to who I was."

While Martins and I tackled the mountain of boxes, I could hear Sarah moving around upstairs, humming softly as she painted.

I pictured her, up on her tiptoes, carefully rolling paint onto the walls with that determined look on her face.

She always had a knack for getting lost in a project, even if it meant paint splatters on her clothes and a streak or two in her hair.

It wasn't long before Martins had shifted most of the boxes, giving me a knowing look. "So, you finally feel like home again?"

"Yeah," I admitted, nodding slowly. "Having her here, it just... it makes everything feel like it's in the right place. Like I'm not just living in some shell of a house."

"Good for you, man," he said, nodding approvingly. "It's good to see you this way."

I grinned at that, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, I couldn't have done it without a few good friends kicking my butt into shape."

Sarah's POV

Upstairs, I rolled another layer of soft blue paint across the wall, watching it dry in even strokes.

Something about this project was giving me a sense of purpose I hadn't felt in ages. Our old bedroom, now painted and filled with a few of my favorite things, felt like mine again. Slowly, I was filling the space with pieces of who I was now, not just who I'd been.

As I moved from one wall to the next, I found myself lost in the process, imagining how each room could feel more like home.

I added my own touch, a splash of color here, a photograph there. It was funny how something as simple as a fresh coat of paint could change a room-and, somehow, change the way I felt about being here. Downstairs, I heard Richard and Martins laughing. It sounded easy, the kind of easy I hadn't felt in years.

Hearing that sound reminded me why I'd wanted to try again with Richard. Because, for all our mistakes, there was something real between us, something that, once I peeled back all the hurt, still made me feel safe. I focused on that feeling as I reached to paint a high corner, stretching on my toes. Just as I was about to put the roller down, I heard a knock on the door. I turned to see Richard peeking in, a gentle smile on his face. "How's it coming along?" he asked, stepping in and looking around with an approving nod. "Looks good, Sarah."

"Thanks," I said, wiping my hands on a cloth. "It's getting there."

He glanced around, a little grin tugging at his lips. "You've really got a vision, you know. I'd never think of putting these colors together, but somehow it works."

I laughed softly. "Well, I've had time to think about it. And I like it better when it feels like... me. Like something we're creating together, bit by bit."

Richard stepped closer, his hand reaching for mine. "Then I think it's perfect. We should've done this years ago."

I smiled. "Has Martins left?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know him. Work came up." Richard said, slowly carrying me down. "You look like a mess."

"Really?" I frowned and before he could react, I smeared the paint on his mustache. Giggling, I asked. "How about now?"

We continued playing with colors, running around the room.