My Childfree Wife's Hidden Heirs - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Childfree Wife's Hidden Heirs, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Childfree Wife's Hidden Heirs.
The sharp trill of her phone jolted Sandra out of her thoughts. She glanced at the caller ID—that number again—and swiped to decline without hesitation.
But the phone rang a second time, relentless. Whoever was on the other end wasn't taking no for an answer.
Then her WhatsApp exploded.
[Mom, my hand really hurts. Come now!]
[Sandra, Adam's out of control—I can't handle him. Get over here!]
[I know Regan's upset. I'll apologize tomorrow. He can scream at me, hit me, whatever. It's Adam's fault for being so difficult.]
Morgan's words—manipulative, dripping with fake remorse—made her stomach turn. For the first time, she saw through him. How had she been so blind?
Back in college, he'd spun her a sob story—his mother, terminally ill, desperate for a grandchild. He'd wept, calling himself a failure for not even having a girlfriend. And like a fool, she'd agreed.
All she'd wanted was a child—her own flesh and blood—without upending her life. Morgan had promised, even sworn, that once the baby was born, he'd raise it alone. No interference. No strings.
But bit by bit, he'd reeled her back in. Adam's hospital stays. The twins' birthdays. Every crisis became another excuse to pull her deeper into his mess.
Sandra straightened, resolve hardening. She'd acted rashly today. She should've trusted Regan. Now, she'd beg for his forgiveness.
Anna and Adam would go back to Filici Country. She'd provide for them—nothing more. No more calls. No more visits. Done.
She moved fast. Her lawyer drafted the paperwork to transfer the shares back. The villa? Gone. The car? Sold. She'd wipe Morgan's footprint from her life before Regan returned. Then maybe—just maybe—things could go back to normal.
When Morgan showed up with the kids, Sandra was rehanging her wedding photo.
He sighed, shaking his head. "Sandra, all couples fight. But threatening divorce? That's low."
She studied him—his righteous indignation, the smug tilt of his chin—then met his eyes. "You really think it's just a threat?"
Morgan scanned her face, mistaking her calm for uncertainty. He smirked. "Of course it is. Drafting papers, tearing down photos, storming out? Classic manipulation. He's playing the victim."
But the phone rang a second time, relentless. Whoever was on the other end wasn't taking no for an answer.
Then her WhatsApp exploded.
[Mom, my hand really hurts. Come now!]
[Sandra, Adam's out of control—I can't handle him. Get over here!]
[I know Regan's upset. I'll apologize tomorrow. He can scream at me, hit me, whatever. It's Adam's fault for being so difficult.]
Morgan's words—manipulative, dripping with fake remorse—made her stomach turn. For the first time, she saw through him. How had she been so blind?
Back in college, he'd spun her a sob story—his mother, terminally ill, desperate for a grandchild. He'd wept, calling himself a failure for not even having a girlfriend. And like a fool, she'd agreed.
All she'd wanted was a child—her own flesh and blood—without upending her life. Morgan had promised, even sworn, that once the baby was born, he'd raise it alone. No interference. No strings.
But bit by bit, he'd reeled her back in. Adam's hospital stays. The twins' birthdays. Every crisis became another excuse to pull her deeper into his mess.
Sandra straightened, resolve hardening. She'd acted rashly today. She should've trusted Regan. Now, she'd beg for his forgiveness.
Anna and Adam would go back to Filici Country. She'd provide for them—nothing more. No more calls. No more visits. Done.
She moved fast. Her lawyer drafted the paperwork to transfer the shares back. The villa? Gone. The car? Sold. She'd wipe Morgan's footprint from her life before Regan returned. Then maybe—just maybe—things could go back to normal.
When Morgan showed up with the kids, Sandra was rehanging her wedding photo.
He sighed, shaking his head. "Sandra, all couples fight. But threatening divorce? That's low."
She studied him—his righteous indignation, the smug tilt of his chin—then met his eyes. "You really think it's just a threat?"
Morgan scanned her face, mistaking her calm for uncertainty. He smirked. "Of course it is. Drafting papers, tearing down photos, storming out? Classic manipulation. He's playing the victim."
End of My Childfree Wife's Hidden Heirs Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Childfree Wife's Hidden Heirs book page.