Page 12 of All That She Needs

What more could I ask?

I sighed deeply, feeling the pressure from my own thoughts. I needed to accept that I had made my choice. I stopped chasing Vanessa. I chose my wife. I chose my family. It was the path I had committed to, and I knew I had to move on with my life.

So why was my heart still breaking?

Vanessa wanted nothing to do with me anymore, and I should see that as a blessing—a release from the chaos I'd been trapped in. She made the decision for me, one I knew I would never have had the courage to make on my own. It should have brought me relief, but instead, it left me feeling like a part of me had been ripped away.

Because there's still a part of me—a dark, twisted piece buried deep inside—that isn't ready to let go yet. It's a darkness that whispers doubts, that refuses to let me move on, even when I want to.

My life was supposed to be simpler now. But the truth was, I felt stuck and incomplete—between the life I chose and the one that slipped away. It kept gnawing at me, and I wondered if there was still a way to put the pieces of myself back together and be happy again.

Last night with Asha had been incredible, like a reminder of how things used to be between us. The connection, the passion—it felt like we had finally broken through the distancethat had settled between us. For the first time in a while, I could let go, to forget the guilt that had been holding me back.

It gave me hope that we could rebuild what was lost. I'd been looking forward to tonight—to keep that connection alive and prove that last night wasn't just a one-time thing. But work got in the way. I couldn't help but wonder if missing tonight would make me lose the progress we had made.

As my eyes drifted to sleep, the greasy scent of her hair attacked my nostrils. I wrinkled my nose, missing the lavender scent from the hair wash she always used, and I couldn't help but think that something was different with Asha. Something changed her. But I just couldn't figure out what.

Part 6: Asha

The next day, during lunchtime, I noticed Liam had texted me. Yes, we had exchanged numbers, and no, I didn't expect that we'd be anything more than friends. I had no agenda for seeking revenge for my husband's infidelity. Liam was simply fun, a breath of fresh air in my otherwise sad, hectic life. Being as busy as I was, I rarely had the time to make new friends. So, having someone like Liam around was a welcome change, and he came at the right time when I desperately needed a distraction.

The text said:

Hi, green-eyed blondie.

I made chicken and spinach casserole for lunch.

Want to share it with you. Will knock on your door at 12:30.

Be ready.

As I read those words, a smile spread across my face. I felt giddy, like a little girl—excited. The idea of Liam bringing over a homemade casserole was both amusing and charming. I pictured him in his kitchen, wearing an apron and... nothing else.

I shook my head wildly, trying to banish the thought from my mind. But, of course, it wouldn't go away that easily. Then another text from Liam chimed in—a photo of the casserole in a glass container with his grinning face next to it, and a note underneath that read:Especially made for you by this stud.

I laughed out loud.

But my laughter was cut short when I realized that everyone around me was staring, their mouths agape in shock. I completely forgot that I was in the middle of a meeting. I quickly cleared my throat and mumbled an apology, feeling my face flush. It took a moment for them to resume the meeting again, as if the shock had rendered everyone stupid. I guessed probably none of them had seen me laugh like that.

I typed back: Okay.

The meeting resumed, but my attention wavered as I tried to focus on the PowerPoint presentation in front of me. Despite being distracted, the errors they attempted to gloss over didn't escape my notice. I cut Jones off mid-sentence; my voice bled with annoyance. "The growth should be 9.8%, not 11%. You've made another miscalculation."

Jones straightened up, his posture stiff with defiance. He never liked me and most probably thought I didn't deserve to be here.

"I've already confirmed this and double-checked with the Finance team. We're growing at 11%—"

"No," I interjected firmly. "You're showing 11% growth because you're including sales that should be attributed to next year. Yes, you may have received the order this year, but that skews the report. Your numbers don't align with the production output that Harry just presented. Our business is very straightforward, Jones. You should know that by now. Check your numbers again."

His face flushed beet red in an instant, and he shot me a glare that could have cut through steel. If looks could kill, I'd have been dead ten times over by now.

At exactly 12:30, Dennis, my assistant, burst into my office, panting and a little breathless. "There's a very, very hot guy in a sweatshirt with an InfiniTech logo waiting for you outside carrying a bag that smelled something delicious," he said, fanning himself with his hand before his face twisted into complete confusion. "And he asked if we have a microwave. Said something about his own microwave being a piece of crap." Dennis frowned, looking even more bewildered. "Then he asked for plates. Cutlery. What the hell is going on?"

I giggled, and once again managed to stun someone with it. "Oh, wow," Dennis breathed. "I've worked for you for almost four years, and I never imagined I'd see the day you giggle. Giggle, Asha. You never giggle. You laugh every once in a full moon, but giggle? Never."

I clamped my mouth shut, trying to suppress the grin still twitching at my lips, and then barked at my assistant, "Send him in."

"What about the microwave?"

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