Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 114: A Life Worth Living

Chapter 114: A Life Worth Living

Jared let out a bitter laugh, though it trembled on the edge of a sob, fragile and raw. "Do you know what kind of strength it takes to say no to someone like Brandon Glover? To refuse him again and again, knowing he could destroy you with a snap of his fingers?"

Jerica’s hand stilled for a moment in his hair before resuming its soothing rhythm. Her eyes burned with tears she hadn’t yet allowed to fall, her heart aching for the boy Jared had once been and for the mother who had suffered unspeakably. She could feel the weight of his words pressing down on her chest, sharp and suffocating, as though she was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking into a dark abyss of grief and injustice.

"And then..." Jared’s voice faltered, barely more than a whisper. He stared blankly at the space before him, eyes distant and haunted as though he were watching the memory play out before him like an old, tattered film. "My mother found help. Another woman—someone who had also suffered at Brandon Glover’s hands—decided to help her. Together, they gathered enough evidence and went to the authorities..."

Jerica sucked in a quiet breath, her hand finding his and squeezing tightly. She already knew the story’s shape, the awful truth etched in Jared’s soul, but hearing it from his lips made it feel heavier, sharper.

Jared clenched his jaw, his shoulders tensing as though he was bracing himself against the words. Without thinking, Jerica wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her warmth. He didn’t resist. Instead, he melted into her embrace, his head resting against her chest as though he could find some kind of sanctuary there.

In that moment, Jerica’s mind raced through everything she knew, every connection she had pieced together. The other woman—the one who had helped Jared’s mother—was Natasha Pavlovskaya’s mother. Natasha, the woman in the red dress Jerica had seen with Jared. Suddenly, the bond between them made sense. They weren’t blood relatives, not cousins like Jared had told her, but something much deeper connected them. Shared trauma had forged their relationship into something close and unshakable, like two survivors holding each other upright after a storm.

It was a bond Jerica understood all too well. She thought of Harold and how their connection had been shaped by their own scars, how shared pain could bind people in ways no words could explain.

Jared exhaled, the sound harsh and uneven. "The cops accepted their complaint," he continued bitterly, "and they sent them off. My mother and that woman... they thought justice would finally be served. They believed it was over. They went home that day, relieved, happy even. They didn’t know they were walking straight into the worst night of their lives."

Jerica’s heart pounded hard against her ribcage. She felt the tension in Jared’s voice coil around her like a noose. The possibilities raced through her mind, each one worse than the last. What could have happened to them? What was the worst thing?

"I saw the pictures, Jerica," Jared whispered, burying his head deeper into her lap, as though trying to hide from the world. "Pictures from that night. The way they... treated my mother..."

Jerica froze. Every part of her wanted to know and yet didn’t. The idea of seeing Jared’s mother—the proud, strong woman she had heard so much about—reduced to something broken was too much to bear. She could feel Jared trembling beneath her touch, his muscles taut like a wire pulled to its breaking point. He was holding himself back, struggling against emotions that threatened to swallow him whole.

Her tears finally broke free, slipping silently down her cheeks as she leaned over him, cradling his head against her. She kissed the top of his hair softly, offering whatever comfort she could, though she knew it wasn’t nearly enough.

"As if that wasn’t enough..." Jared’s voice was hollow now, scraped raw. "They were sent to the military for ’interrogation.’ Two days, Jerica. Two days no one talks about. No one knows what happened to them there." He took in a sharp, shaking breath, his hands gripping her thighs as if steadying himself. "They never spoke of it after. I was too young to understand, but I remember how they looked when they came back."

Jerica’s heart splintered further. She rubbed his back gently, her hands moving in slow circles, as though trying to soothe a wound so deep it would never heal. Two days. Those words echoed in her mind like a curse.

"In the end," Jared went on, his voice growing rough, "they were let go, but only after they signed a statement saying they’d lied. That their accusations were just some ploy to extort Brandon Glover for money. They had to sign. They had

to. Because he threatened to deport them without their children. What were they supposed to do? They endured it all... just for us."

Jerica felt like her heart had shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. The sacrifice, the pain, the impossible choice his mother and that woman had made just to protect their children—it was unbearable. She tightened her arms around Jared, holding him as though she could somehow bear some of the weight for him.

Jared let out a deep, unsteady breath, his voice breaking. "I still remember how my mother looked when she came home after disappearing for three days... She didn’t say a word, but I knew something had broken inside her. I didn’t understand it then, but when I got older..." He trailed off, unable to finish.

Jerica leaned down, resting her cheek against his shoulder, tears silently soaking into the fabric of his shirt. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was the only thing grounding her, tethering her to the moment as her own heart twisted painfully inside her chest. "How old were you?" she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible in the heavy silence. "When all of this happened? Why didn’t the Braddock family offer any help?"

Her question hung in the air like a shard of glass, sharp and fragile. Jared stiffened beneath her touch, his body rigid as if her words had struck a raw nerve. The pause that followed felt endless, a chasm of unspoken hurt and secrets. Jerica waited, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his sleeve, bracing herself for the answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

Finally, Jared exhaled slowly, his sigh heavy with years of unspoken pain. "You know my mother," he said, his voice low, as though speaking too loudly might break something inside him. "She’s proud. Too proud." He let out a bitter chuckle, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I was so angry at the Braddocks back then. I hated them for turning their backs, for pretending not to see. But my mother... she didn’t want to ask for their help. She refused to beg them. She said it was better to stand alone than to owe them anything. So she carried it all—everything—for my sake."

Jerica’s chest ached at his words. The pride, the suffering, the loneliness his mother must have endured—it made her heart feel like it might splinter apart. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, her lips lingering there for a moment, as if trying to press some of her strength into him. "She must have been so strong," she murmured softly. "So much stronger than anyone ever realized."

Jared’s expression softened, though the shadows in his eyes remained. He shifted slightly, sitting up to face her. The movement broke the fragile stillness of the room, and Jerica sat up too, tucking her knees beneath her as she turned to meet his gaze. The faint light caught the edge of his jaw, his features etched with exhaustion and something deeper—something only years of pain could carve into a person.

"That was what I used to think," Jared admitted, his voice quieter now, as though he was finally giving voice to the thoughts that had haunted him. "But my mother... she was happy at first when I told her I would make them pay. She said she was proud of me. I thought I was doing the right thing—honoring her sacrifices, giving her the justice she deserved. But this year..." He paused, his brow furrowing as his fingers rubbed absently at a spot on his knee, a nervous habit Jerica hadn’t seen before. "This year, something changed. She asked me to stop."

Jerica’s heart skipped a beat, her gaze searching his face. "Why?" she asked softly, though she already sensed the answer.

Jared’s lips pressed into a thin line as he struggled to find the words. "She said she didn’t want revenge anymore," he admitted. "She told me that chasing it would only pull me deeper into darkness, and she couldn’t bear to watch me throw my life away for something that wouldn’t change the past." His voice cracked slightly, and Jerica felt the weight of his struggle settle between them like a tangible thing. "She wanted me to be happy, Jerica. She begged me to let go, to build a family, to find a life worth living instead of spending my days fighting ghosts."

Jerica’s heart clenched. A life worth living.