The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 584

**Military 584: Not Letting Go**

“Please, Mom, don’t leave me. I can’t bear the thought of us being apart!” she cried, her voice trembling as she clung to him, her grip tightening until it felt like he might gasp for breath.

In that surreal moment, a wave of memories washed over her, pulling her back to her junior year. It was a winter marked by the chill of impending loss, the sterile smell of disinfectant mingling with the sorrowful goodbyes echoing in the hospital hallways. The doctors had warned her then, whispering words that felt like ice in her veins—her mother might not see the spring.

She had refused to let go then, and she was determined not to let go now; all she wanted was to remain pressed against her mother, as if the sheer force of their closeness could somehow keep the specter of death at bay, locked outside the door.

Weston, feeling the weight of her desperation, planted his feet firmly on the carpet. With gentle but firm hands, he began to pry her arms from around his neck. “Laura, you need to listen to me. I’m not your mother. You’re drunk. Please, loosen your grip.”

“You are!” she insisted, her voice rising with a fervor that surprised even her. In a sudden burst of drunken strength, she pushed him back, and they tumbled together onto the mattress, landing in a disheveled heap.

Now, her arms no longer encircled his neck; instead, they slid down to wrap around his waist, binding him to her like chains forged from her deep-seated longing.

Weston lowered his gaze, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of her flushed face, her eyes shimmering with unspoken emotions. “Open your eyes, Laura. Look at me—really look. Who am I?”

She stirred, lifting her head slowly, as if surfacing from a deep underwater slumber. “You are… Mom. Mom, I miss you so much. I just want to stay with you.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes once more, turning them a brilliant crimson, as if grief itself had learned to radiate light.

Weston exhaled a weary breath, feeling the fight drain from his shoulders. Arguing with someone so deeply intoxicated felt as futile as trying to curse away a relentless rainstorm.

He gently brushed her damp hair away from her cheek, his heart aching. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I miss you too.”

Her smile was both radiant and shattered, a beacon of light tangled with sorrow. “I knew it—I’ve always known you would miss me!”

She nestled against his chest once more, her words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “Mom, I visit you every single year. But every year, I go alone. Dad says he stays back so Sylvia won’t invent stories. He lets me face the headstones by myself. Everyone used to say Dad adored you, but that’s not the truth at all. Mom, do you know there was a year I wanted to bring my boyfriend to your grave? I wanted you to meet him, to see that I’m not the only one who carries your memory.”

The mask of composure slipped from Weston’s face; her last words struck him like a brick through glass, leaving him suspended in a state of shock, caught between apology and horror.

His voice emerged as a strained whisper. “What did you just say?”

“I said… Mom, I once wanted to bring my boyfriend to see you. No, not boyfriend—ex-boyfriend. We broke up.” Laura mumbled the confession with the hesitance of a child caught in a lie, her tears clinging to every word. “I… I liked him so much back then, but he told his friends I was just a game to him. I don’t want that kind of casual love. I need someone who would still think of me if I died, who would raise our child, who would visit my grave every year instead of just messing around.”

Her choked confession reverberated through the dimly lit room, each word a painful echo of her heartache.

It felt as though each syllable landed like a brutal slap across Weston’s face, stinging until his vision blurred.

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