My Ex husband Crazy For My Love free download pdf

Waking up today, I should have inferred that the heavens stood against me. From getting up to four

hours later after my alarm must have rung, to discover I had to tidy up my apartment.

Cleaning was one household task I detested with everything in me. I would pay to have it

obliterated from the earth if I held such power. It took everything in me to clean and organize

my space, and I didn't love one bit of it.

Needing an outlet to release some pent-up frustration and energy, I was dressed to meet with

Dylan and Roland, my best buddies from college, sophomore year, when my dad's call came in.

I instantly became annoyed when I saw his name spelled out across my iPhone 13 Pro Max.

Nothing good ever came out of speaking with him. My dad had the ability and power to turn a

nice, pleasant, and optimistic day into a pathetic one within the blink of an eye. And he didn't have

to do too much. Just a phone call could make that transpire.

Growing up, I constantly loathed the precepts and ideologies he tried to execute on me and my

siblings, particularly Ernest, who was the eldest.

Without lingering for me to let out anything, he barked out his demand on wanting to see me

with prompt effect. Of course, he missed me, note the sarcasm!

I can't recollect the last time my dad ever called to check on me or my well-being. He always

wanted something done, like a hungry peasant who couldn't wait for his meal to be served; you

dare not disobey, or the outcome will be grave.

I shot a text to Dylan and Roland, telling them I was unable to make it anymore.

Arriving at my parents' residence thirty minutes later, I parked my Lexus 360 in the garage and

strolled to the front door. The door opened immediately as I pushed the doorbell, revealing

Alice, the housekeeper who had stayed here for more than two decades.

"Hello, Alice." She flung her arms open and enfolded me in a hug. She is scented like lavender and

baby powder.

"Have you been hiding away from me?" She reprimanded as she pulled my ears.

"Of course not! I've just been busy, that's all." I answered back.

"Here, have this. Give it to Sam."

I said, thrusting the polythene bag that contained groceries towards her. Sam was her

10-year-old granddaughter, who came around occasionally.

"Oh, Ethan. You didn't have to. Thank you." She beamed and took the bag.

"Your parents are waiting in the dining room," she said, guiding the way.

"Ah, are we having dinner soon? Could you please add chicken wings for me?"

"I'm not promising, though."

She turned into the kitchen while I found my way to the dining table where my parents were

seated.

My father was at the head of the table, sipping coffee from his silverware cup. My mom was