Page 53 of His Vengeful Tradwife

I opened the door and made a whistling sound.

And our beautiful plump pink pigs, happily eating corn, nosed their way out of the gate and started trotting happily over, expecting even more treats.

"You better go," I said, "Or I'll set the pigs on you and let them chew up those expensive stilettos you've got on."

"You're the absolute worst, Tallulah!" my mother shrieked. "Roger, let's go!"

And Maverick released Lord Winterborne, and the two of them scuttled back to their Rolls-Royce and got the hell out of there.

Maverick looked troubled as we got in our truck and went to get the kids.

"I hope you don't think your mom was right," he said. "There is no excuse for what I did and you are not to blame in any way. I'm so goddamn sorry I put you through this."

My phone buzzed and I glanced down at it.

Congratulations on 40 million followers

He had done it. As we pulled into Dad's driveway, I held up my phone wordlessly.

Maverick's face was transformed with joy, his eyes crinkled up with pleasure and hope.

"I--looks you like you did it. You can have a second chance," I said.

"Yes!" Maverick cried exultingly. His eager lips covered mine, his hand tangling in my unbound hair. "I love you so much."

His kissed me so hard my lips ached, his hand reaching forward to wrap around my waist, pull me ever-closer.

"Don't you love me?" he asked.

I hesitated. That bitter-gall feeling was still sitting like a weight in my gut. I had to get it out somehow. Or it wouldn't really be a second chance.

"I'm not quite there yet," I said.

"I--understand that," he said haltingly. "I'm just--so ready, baby. Whenever you are."

The disappointment was written clearly all over his face, but I couldn't help it. I wasn't quite there yet. I wasn't quite ready to fully open my heart to my husband again. . .

Maverick had done all that I had asked of him.

But something still held me back, something kept me from fully opening up. It was the anger that coiled in my belly, spread through each limb like a living, feral thing, electric power of my anger spreading even to my fingertips.

How could I get it out? Was it even possible?

The next day, Dad came over to get the kids and I buckled them into the carseats. He handed everyone a little bag of goldfish and a juice box and then moved around to the front.

"I've got something to tell you," I said, tears prickling at the corner of my eyes. "I just hit 40 million subscribers on my TikTok channel."

"Honey, that's amazing!" he enthused, grinning at me. "You're a superstar."

"I wanted to say that I really appreciate all the ways you've supported me, all the ways you've loved the kids. You and Becky. I just bought out your entire mortgage, Dad. It's all clear and paid for. Hell, I love you so much I bought up the three houses around you, too. Now you can work on all those crazy additions you've always wanted to. The three-story treehouse for your grandkids. You don't have to work anymore if you don't want to."

The tears sprang to his blue eyes then and he pulled me into a quick hug.

"This is--this is too much, girlie. You didn't have to do this."

"I know I didn't. I wanted to."

"Thank you," he said gruffly. "I love you so much and I'm so proud of you. Take a day off, honey," he whispered in my ear. "You work so hard. Take a day off and relax."

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