Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart

Richard's

pov.

She blinked, and for a moment, it was like I was seeing her consider my words. But then she shook her head, almost like she was brushing them off. "It doesn't change anything," she said quietly. "You didn't even try, Richard. Not once."

She was right again. I never tried. And now I was sitting here, a year later, trying to fix something I'd barely bothered to build in the first place. The truth was, I never let us have good memories. I didn't give us a chance.

When I married Sarah, I wasn't interested in building a life with her-I just wanted my inheritance and Susan-but it turned out to be something empty. And it took losing her to realize just how badly I had screwed it all up.

Now, every time we met for coffee or a quick lunch, I could feel the weight of all the things I should have done.

Every conversation, every smile she gave me now, it was tinged with the bitterness of what could had been if I hadn't been such a fool.

We talked about her business a lot, and I could see how proud she was of it. She lit up when she talked about the new deals she was making, and the expansion plans. And every time she did, it just reminded me how much I missed when we were married. I wasn't there for any of it. I wasn't there for her.

One day, after she was finished telling me about a new investor, I found myself blurting out, "I wish I'd been there to see all of this."

She looked at me, almost startled by my admission. "Well, you weren't," she said, and her words were blunt, but not cruel. "You were always somewhere else."

I nodded, because what could I say? She was right. Again. "Yeah, I was. And I hate myself for that."

Sarah didn't respond right away. She just looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup.

"We're not going to fix this, Richard," she finally says. "I don't even want to try."

Her words hit like a punch, but I knew they were coming. She's made it clear from the start-there's no going back.

No fixing what was broken. But that didn't stop me from wanting it. From wanting her back.

"I get that," I say slowly. "But can we at least try to... I don't know, be friends?"

Sarah gave me a long look, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. She didn't hate me anymore-not like she used to-but she was not ready to let me in, either. Not fully. "Friends?" she echoed, like she was testing the word.

"Yeah," I said, though I didn't even know if I believed it myself. "I'd rather have you as a friend than not at all."

She shoom her head, a small smile played at her lips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Richard." "Why not?"

"Because I know you. You'll say 'friends,' but you'll still try to get back together." She was not wrong. Again.

I opened my mouth to argue, but then I just shrug. "Can you blame me?"

She laugher, and it was the second real laugh I've heard from her in ages. "No, I guess not."

We fell into silence again, and I knew the boundaries are still there, firmly in place. But at least she was laughing again. At least we were talking.

And maybe, just maybe, that's a start.

Weeks passed, and we kept meeting. Each time, Sarah set the tone-strictly platonic, strictly business.

She was careful, never letting me get too close, never letting me cross any lines. I'd make a joke, she'd smile briefly, but that was it.

But every now and then, we'd touch on something personal, something that reminded me of the past, and I could see the flicker of pain in her eyes. It was subtle, but it was there. She hadn't forgotten. How could she? One afternoon, over lunch, I tried to bring up a lighter memory. I needed a win, a reminder that there was something good buried under all the mess.

"Remember that trip to the cabin? The one up by the mountains?"

She paused mid-bite, her expression blank. "No, I don't."

I frowned. "Come on, you must remember. We rented that place for the weekend."

Her gaze hardened. "Richard, we never went to a cabin. That was you and Susan, remember?"

My heart sank. Of course, she was right. I'd taken Susan there, not Sarah. What was I even thinking, trying to bring up something like that? "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I-"

"It doesn't matter," she said quickly, shaking her head. "That's not who I am anymore. And it's not who you should be, either."

She wasn't angry, but I could see the exhaustion in her eyes. She was tired of my apologies, tired of me trying to rewrite the past.

There were no good memories for us to cling to. All we had were regrets.

"I'm trying to change," I said, almost pleading. "I want to be better, Sarah."

She sighed, putting down her fork. "I know you're trying, Richard. And I appreciate that. But I need you to understand something-we can't go back."

"We don't have some magical history to fall back on. What we had... it wasn't good. And I won't put myself through that again."

Her words were final, and I knew she meant them. She'd moved on, grown stronger, and built a life without me, and she wasn't going to let me drag her back into the past.

"I get it," I said, my voice was thick with regret. "I do."

But as much as I tried to accept it, the truth was I didn't want to just be her friend. Not anymore. I wanted her back.

But wanting and deserving were two very different things, and Sarah was making sure I understood that.

For now, friends were all I'd get. And if that's what she needed, I'd try. But deep down, I knew I'd never stop hoping for more.