From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 231

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**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**

**From Best Friend To Fiancé**

**Chapter 231**

**Chapter 138: Abandoned Wil**

The weight of the world pressed down on my chest as I walked through the front door, a heaviness that felt as if I were carrying a soaked towel—cold, dense, and utterly impossible to wring out.

Mom had decided to divorce her awful husband, declaring, “I want to die a free woman.” The words hung in the air, heavy with a mix of desperation and defiance. She had spent years in that marriage, feeling like a prisoner, suffocated by his every demand and whim.

Did I feel sympathy for her? Perhaps a flicker of it, but deep down, I couldn’t bring myself to fully believe her.

I could picture her vividly: her laughter ringing through the house, her sequined dresses shimmering under the lights, the bold red of her lipstick, and the unmistakable scent of whiskey that clung to her as she entertained the so-called friends she surrounded herself with. She wasn’t some meek woman crushed under the heel of a tyrant; she was fiercely in love with Julius. And let’s not forget the guilt she carried for having an affair with his equally despicable brother, resulting in my very existence.

Mom was never a victim. She was simply a coward, choosing to survive by wearing a mask of normalcy. She prioritized her reputation and her wealthy friends over her own daughter, sipping champagne with the very men who had hurt me, all while calling it loyalty.

But when the dust settles and people are left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, we’re expected to rewrite their narratives. We’re told to view them as saints, to see the scars they left behind as lessons rather than wounds.

It’s a disheartening charade. It drains every ounce of energy I have. And right now, it’s placing me in a precarious position.

Her so-called “final wish” before she moves forward with the divorce is that I reach out to Roman for assistance. More specifically, she wants me to contact Penelope for help.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

I find myself staring at the clock on the wall, its hands mocking me. It’s fifteen minutes past midnight. I’ve been waiting for him like a forsaken wife, unsure of when to let go of hope.

The house is enveloped in an eerie silence, the kind that resonates in your ears. My phone lies face down on the table, and I can’t help but glance at it repeatedly, even though I know no messages are coming my way.

Why did I even bother changing into this robe? Perhaps I wanted to appear presentable when he walked through the door. Perhaps I yearned for him to notice me, to see if I still had any effect on him.