HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 40

**Shadows of the Past – By Emma Clarke**
**Chapter 40**

Althea nodded, her expression resolute. “I think so too,” she replied softly, turning her attention to Lena. With a gentle touch, she placed her hand over Lena’s, a gesture filled with warmth and sincerity. “Thank you, Lena. Please take care of yourself, alright? And do me a favor—try not to wake up so often in the middle of the night. Use your rest hours wisely; you deserve that peace.”

Lena blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over, and nodded fervently. “Yes, Mrs. Althea,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow.

With that, Althea began her walk toward the car, her heart steady despite the piercing glares directed at her from Vanessa, Felicia, Kalina, and even Kate. She offered them nothing—no parting words, no final glance. They were undeserving of her attention. Not even Daven received more than a slight nod as she passed him, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes. It was all she had left to give, and somehow, it felt sufficient.

As she approached the vehicle, a woman emerged from the car, making her way to the trunk to assist with the luggage, checking for any remaining items that needed to be taken.

Lydia rounded the corner, her expression eager yet slightly anxious. “Did I arrive too late?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Not at all,” Althea replied, a faint smile gracing her lips, a flicker of warmth amidst the chill of the moment. “Let’s go.”

“Of course,” Lydia responded, her enthusiasm bubbling to the surface as she opened the passenger door for Althea, deliberately ignoring the others who lingered, still watching with judgmental eyes. She had not forgotten, nor would she ever forget, the way they had treated Althea a year prior. The memories were etched in her mind, a painful reminder of the cruelty that had been shown.

If Lydia had possessed even a fraction of the power to make Daven realize the grave error he had made, she would have seized that opportunity without hesitation. But deep down, she understood that even if she could, Althea would never permit her to intervene.

Althea was far too kind, far too gentle-hearted for that.

Just before she stepped into the car, Althea paused, turning back to meet Daven’s gaze, which was locked onto her, his expression a mix of disbelief and regret.

“Get started on the divorce papers, Daven,” she instructed softly, her voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion. “Send the documents to Lydia’s address. And please… don’t drag it out longer than necessary. You won’t, will you?”

—

The overcast sky seemed to resonate with the weight of the moment, as if it understood that this was no ordinary day for Althea. A gentle breeze whispered through the rows of pine trees that bordered the quiet, secluded cemetery, wrapping around them like a shroud. Everything was still—silent, almost reverent.

Lydia stole a glance at Althea, who stood beside a meticulously tended grave, her head bowed in contemplation. A delicate bouquet of white lilies rested against the stone, their petals quivering softly in the breeze, as if sharing in Althea’s grief.

Althea let out a quiet laugh, a sound that held both sadness and understanding. “Because he is a good man, Lydia.”

“Say whatever you want, Althea,” Lydia muttered, her irritation evident—not at being in the cemetery, but at how Althea continued to speak and act as though Daven had played no part in the pain she had endured. Yet, she chose to hold her tongue, following silently as Althea made her way toward another grave.

Her mother’s.

Aisa Grayson.

A woman Lydia could never forget—the warmth of her presence, the sincerity in her words, the way her smile could calm any storm. Aisa had always been a beacon of strength, a woman with a gentle heart who stood firm in a world that often felt unjust and cruel.

Aisa had been laid to rest in the same cemetery as Evelyn Callister, though her grave occupied a different section, a small oasis of peace amidst the sorrow.

“Hi, Mom,” Althea greeted brightly, her voice light despite the underlying ache that tugged at her heart. Just as she had done at Evelyn’s grave, she brought a bouquet—this time, white roses, a nod to her mother’s favorite flower.