Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love-Chapter 133: Her Understanding

Inside, Lydia rose from her seat the moment Arthur stepped into the room. Her movements were quick, almost frantic, as though she’d been waiting for this very moment. "Artie," she called softly, walking toward him. Her green eyes, usually vibrant with life, held a dullness that Arthur wasn’t used to—something manic that unsettled him. But mingled with that chaos, there was something else: hope.

Hope. It was a fragile thing, easily crushed under the weight of reality, yet so powerful when it burned bright. It could carry people through the darkest storms, giving them strength when all seemed lost. Arthur saw that hope now in Lydia’s eyes and, for the first time in days, felt his own resolve steady. He could weather this storm. They could weather it—together.

"Where is she? Where is our daughter? Is she safe?" Lydia asked, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, her voice trembling with urgency.

Arthur froze, her words catching him completely off guard. "Our daughter?" he echoed, his voice thick with disbelief. "You... you believe she’s our daughter?" His mind raced. "What did Philip tell you? Did he call you again?"

He had prepared himself for anger, for accusations and tears, but this... Lydia’s calm acceptance left him momentarily speechless. Had Philip changed his approach after their last encounter? Had he, somehow, made this easier for them?

"Philip did call," Lydia said, her hands loosening his tie as though to help him breathe. Her touch was light, comforting, as if she sensed the turmoil in his chest. "He told me Jerica is your daughter." She wiped the sweat beading on his forehead with the sleeve of her robe.

Arthur’s pulse quickened. "And?" he asked, his voice tight with anticipation.

"And what, silly?" Lydia replied with a soft laugh, gently patting his chest. Her expression softened into something almost playful. "If she’s your daughter, doesn’t that mean she’s our daughter? I mean, I’m the only one who’s ever birthed your children, so..."

Arthur’s legs almost gave out beneath him. Relief surged through him like a tidal wave, and he gripped Lydia’s shoulders as though grounding himself. "Thank you..." he whispered, his voice breaking. His knees buckled slightly, and he sank into a nearby chair.

Lydia, startled by his reaction, quickly wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, dear!" she said, patting his back. "Why are you acting so silly? Did you really think I’d believe for a second that you had a child with another woman?"

Arthur looked up at her, his eyes glistening. "I thought... I thought you’d be angry, that you wouldn’t listen."

Lydia chuckled, a light sound that eased the tension in the room. "Angry? Why would I be angry at something so absurd?" She cupped his face, her smile affectionate. "Arthur, you’re too in love with me to have an affair. And even if you tried, you’re too hopelessly bad at hiding things. You wouldn’t have lasted a day without me noticing."

Her teasing tone pulled a laugh from Arthur, a low, relieved sound. "You’re too good to me," he said, shaking his head.

"Of course I am. Someone has to take care of you," she replied with a smirk, guiding him to the bed. She poured him a glass of his favorite whiskey, then perched on his lap, her arms around his neck.

Arthur accepted the glass but set it down on the table. He pulled Lydia closer, resting his head on her shoulder. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.

Lydia ran her fingers through his hair, leaning her forehead against his. "Why wouldn’t I trust you?" she asked softly. "I know you, Arthur. You’d never do something to risk losing me. Just like you’d never believe it if someone told you I’d cheated on you."

Arthur’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing. "Who said that?" he demanded, his voice sharp and protective. "I’ll crush the skull of anyone who dares to say something so stupid!"

Lydia laughed, her lips brushing his cheek. "Exactly," she whispered. "That’s why I don’t doubt you. Because I know you."

She leaned closer, resting her head against his chest, her ear attuned to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a sound she had always found reassuring, a constant in their turbulent lives. Her fingers danced over the fabric of his shirt, tracing idle patterns that seemed to calm her even as her emotions churned within. The silence between them stretched, heavy yet comforting, until she finally broke it, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I was right, wasn’t I? My daughter... our daughter is alive."

Arthur stilled. Her words, simple yet profound, hung in the air like a thunderclap. His hand, which had been reaching for the glass of whiskey, stopped mid-air before lowering to his side. The glass sat untouched, forgotten. He swallowed hard, his throat tight with unspoken emotion. "Yes," he said after a beat, his voice gravelly and low. "She’s alive."

Her breath hitched as tears welled in her eyes, her fingers clutching his shirt tightly. "I was right..." she whispered again, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and vindication. "Artie, I’m finally vindicated..."

"Yes, dear," Arthur murmured, wrapping his hands around hers, anchoring her as much as himself. "You were right. We were wrong not to listen to you. Our daughter is alive."

Her shoulders shook as emotions overwhelmed her, and she clung to him, burying her face into his chest. Arthur held her close, his own eyes burning as memories from the past crashed over him like waves. He closed his eyes, the images vivid and unrelenting.

When the nurses gave their newborn baby girl and told them that she had a fatal condition and she wouldn’t live long, it was devastating for them as first-time parents.

He remembered the bitter arguments, the endless nights of Lydia pleading her case, her voice breaking as she insisted their child wasn’t gone. The cold skepticism he had carried, the quiet dismissal, and the subtle ways he had tried to steer her away from what he had believed to be false hope. He remembered the look of devastation on her face when no one believed her, the silent hurt she bore as she continued to cling to what everyone else thought was an illusion.

But it all went to an extreme.