My Second Chance
Copyright© 2026 by BillMax
Chapter 11: His Woman
“Right, right! What’s the problem?”
Gordon Vance seemed not to notice her daughter’s shock at all. Her answer rang with self-righteous confidence, as if seizing the deed were the most natural thing in the world.
Claire Jensen couldn’t understand. “Why? The house isn’t yours. You can’t eat it or drink it. What do you want with it?”
“Has your brain stopped working, or your ears too? I just told you—I’m getting ahead of any accidents. Maybe by then I can make that Hale boy leave with nothing. This is for your own good!”
“I only decided to divorce last night. How could you have known beforehand?”
“I don’t need to know. You will divorce, whether you want to or not. I didn’t raise you to throw yourself away. Now it’s time to repay this family.”
The world spun before Claire’s eyes. She had to brace herself on the suitcase to keep from falling, regret and guilt and sadness and grievance crashing together until she could barely breathe.
She had known since childhood that her mother favored her brother over her, but it had mostly meant small preferential treatment. She had never suffered too badly.
With her gentle, tolerant nature, she had never held a grudge. She had always done her best to meet her family’s demands and repay them for raising her.
What she never could have imagined was that to her mother, her sacrifices were not only taken for granted—they were nowhere near enough.
Her dreams, her happiness, even her existence as a person, none of it mattered.
As long as she could not bring sufficient benefit to the family, her life had to be bent to their will without question.
By contrast, her husband had been so misunderstood and hurt last night, yet he had not spoken one harsh word. He had even sacrificed his own comfort to keep her safe.
At the thought, Claire’s tears spilled over and would not stop.
I really am a fool. All of this pain is self-inflicted. I deserve it.
“Crying, crying, crying—is that all you know how to do? Why didn’t you cry when I told you not to marry him in the first place?”
“Stop standing there like a statue. Hurry up and clean the room, then go buy a bed and pick up extra groceries. Your brother Laura will be home for lunch.”
Gordon walked off, muttering curses under her breath.
Claire drew a deep breath, wiped her tears, and followed her mother into the master bedroom. “Where’s the property deed?”
Gordon, puzzled, pointed without thinking to the bedside drawer. “It’s in there.”
Claire said nothing. She went straight to the drawer, took the deed, and turned to leave.
“What are you doing?” Gordon grabbed her. “Even if you’re divorcing now, there’s no need to take that. What if Marcus snatches it away?”
Claire shook her mother off. “Mom, I’m not divorcing Marcus. I will never divorce him—not in this life, not in death. If I die, I want to be buried beside him.”
“What did you say?”
Gordon first thought she had misheard. Then rage exploded across her face and she slapped her daughter hard across the cheek.
“Claire, have you lost your mind? What’s so good about that worthless Hale that you’d rather anger your own mother to death?”
After the slap, something seemed to lift from Claire’s shoulders. She felt lighter.
Head high, she said, “Marcus is my husband. He’s the father of my child. I love him, and he loves me. That alone is enough to prove he’s the best man in the world.”
Then she turned and walked away, her steps brisk and sure.
Gordon stood frozen. “What? You have a child? You—stop right there! I’m warning you, get rid of that thing immediately, or don’t ever set foot in this house again—”
Claire slammed the door behind her, shutting her mother’s curses outside. She bent her head and touched her abdomen. “I’m sorry, baby. Mommy lost her mind and almost made a terrible mistake. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Inside, Gordon grew more furious by the second. She pulled out her phone and called her son. “Laura, don’t you have a lot of good friends? Get them to find Marcus. We can’t rely on your sister. If we want that house, we have to handle it ourselves.”
Early that morning, Marcus brought breakfast home, only to find Claire already gone. He ate alone, helpless and a little hollow.
He had barely taken a few bites when his phone rang.
“Uh ... Marcus, am I disturbing you? I didn’t want to call, but there’s a small problem and I think you need to know right away. You have to believe me—I really didn’t know anything beforehand.”
Marcus frowned. “Stop mumbling and straighten out your tongue. What happened?”
“Uh, we ... we might have accidentally ... kidnapped your sister-in-law.”
“What?”
Marcus shot to his feet. “Serena Blake, you dare touch my wife? Are you looking to die?”
“Not the older one. The younger one. Marcus, don’t get worked up. Let me explain—”
“Wait. Older sister-in-law, younger sister-in-law—I only have one wife.”
“Got it, got it.” Serena snickered. “We’re all men here. I understand.”
Marcus was more confused than ever. “Speak clearly. What happened? Who did you grab?”
“Right, right, here’s the thing,” Serena said. “Last night, thanks to your warning, you saved my life. I was furious, so I had people look into the boss of Mengmeng’s agency. I thought she’d run, but this morning someone brought her in.
She said it had nothing to do with her. Of course I didn’t believe her. Fortunately I asked a few more questions and found out it was a total mix-up. She’s your woman.
Sorry, bro. I had no idea. Please don’t be mad.”
Marcus was stunned.
What a mess. He had never married another woman in his past life. How was there another woman in this one?
Last night, after hearing that seven or eight wealthy and powerful second-generation kids were out to grab her, Bryce Thornton hid and began making phone calls, seeking help to mediate the situation.
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