Can I Read 'I'Ll Tell You When I'M Home: A Memoir' Online For Free?

Not even three years into their marriage could Gabriella Carrington capture Henry Toussaint's heart. Instead, following the return of Henry's first love, all Gabriella receives is a divorce agreement and a brutal slap from reality. "Will you still leave me if I'm pregnant?" Gabriella asks, in which Henry affirms adamantly. It was what it took for her to finalize the divorce and let her dreams die. Only, Henry seems to want a second chance now that she has finally given up.

I was his wife. His obligation. His biggest mistake. For three years, I stayed silent, watching Liam love another woman while I wasted away beside him. But when he let our baby die without lifting a finger, everything inside me shattered. I walked away—but not to disappear. I walked into a new life. One where I’d find strength, answers… and someone who’d remind me what it feels like to be seen. But the past isn’t done with me. And neither is Liam. Because what ties us together runs deeper than we ever knew. And the man I’m beginning to fall for? He might be the one thing that unravels it all. A heartbreak billionaire romance about betrayal, identity, and a love buried in the ashes of the past.

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully mine.

That night was supposed to belong to Mia. She had spent a month practicing for her first piano recital. I had cooked all afternoon, set the table, and helped her into the pale blue dress Luca loved. She stood beside the piano, cheeks flushed, fingers trembling with excitement. Then Luca's phone rang. Vivienne was spiraling again. After Luca's older brother died, his widow never really came back from it. On her worst nights, she forgot the difference between the dead husband she had lost and the brother-in-law who kept showing up to save her. And Luca always showed up. Every time Vivienne broke, he left us behind. Every time he came home, he brought apologies, pretty gifts, and promises for next time. And every time, I believed him. Until that night. Before he could make another excuse, I placed the divorce papers in front of him. He signed without reading them, then touched my shoulder like he was the one being generous. "When this is over, I'll make it up to you," he said. "You, me, and Mia. The Maldives. No calls. No interruptions." Then he kissed our daughter's hair and walked out before she played a single note. What Luca didn't know was that Mia's passport was already packed. So was the little suitcase under her bed. I was done waiting for a man who only loved us when no one else needed him. This time, he could come home to an empty house.

On their wedding day, a handsome groom and his beautiful bride said, "I Do." Their hearts were fluttering with pure joy! They had married the love of their life! Is this what I experience? No, this is not that story. You see, love didn't become apparent until after my divorce. I can't wait to tell you how it all transpired. It's a riveting sweet romance novel. No cliffhangers, but a good read! Happy ending? You'll have to read it to find out.

On New Year's Eve, the smell of a roast in the oven drifted through the house. My grandmother walked over to me, with an old photograph in her hand, the edges worn soft with age. "Is Zack almost home?" My throat tightened. It had been three years. She could never remember that my younger brother was long gone. I was the one who picked up his ashes. At that moment, my phone rang. The moment I saw the name on the screen, the blood in my veins seemed to freeze. I stepped out onto the balcony before answering, keeping my voice low. "What is it?" The voice on the other end of the line trembled. "It's been three years. Are you still angry? I've been waiting for you to come home. Our son has, too. We're downstairs." Downstairs? I walked over and looked down to see a tall figure and a small one standing together. Through my phone, my son's voice came with a catch in his throat, saying, "Daddy…" My thoughts snapped back into place. I said flatly, "We've been divorced for a long time. He said he didn't want to stay with me." Then, I hung up without another word.