Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 297

A heavy night blanketed the world.

On the empty stretch of highway, a lone service station glowed—its lights a bright oasis in the darkness. Clusters of cars were already parked outside, and people moved in and out, lending the place a surprising liveliness for such a late hour.

Soon, a black SUV pulled up.

Archie hopped out, hustled inside, and returned minutes later with a thermos full of hot water and a bag of takeout.

“Dinner and medicine, Mila.”

“…Thanks.”

Mila didn’t bother correcting him about calling her “Mila” anymore. She’d realized by now that Archie was the type to do as he pleased—he might promise to change, but would always slip back into old habits the next minute. Honestly, she was too tired to care. Let him call her whatever he wanted; it wasn’t worth the trouble.

An uneasy silence settled inside the car.

Midway through eating, Mila noticed Archie kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. After the third or fourth time, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What’s up?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Archie scratched his nose, hesitant, but finally blurted out, “Mila, when we were driving earlier… did you have a nightmare?”

The look on her face when she woke up—so shaken, so upset—had really startled him.

Remembering the fragments of her dream, Mila lowered her gaze, not wanting to get into it. She brushed him off. “Yeah. Bad dream. Ghosts and all that. Gave me the creeps.”

“Huh?”

Archie blinked, surprised, then gave his chest a hearty thump. “Don’t worry, Mila. I’m tough. No ghost would dare mess with us while I’m here. Get some sleep!”

Mila couldn’t help but smile at him—so earnest, so young, still clinging to that teenage bravado.

That night, they parked at the service station, wrapped up in thick blankets they’d bought from a village shop, and tried to get some rest in the car.

Archie reclined his seat, stretching out as best he could. Mila curled up on the backseat, but no matter how she adjusted, she couldn’t find peace. Her sleep was restless, her dreams even more so.

…

Losing love hurt, of course.

But losing her grades, her scholarship? That would mean disaster.

Without that scholarship, the next semester would be even harder. She’d have to work more hours, leaving even less time for studying. It would become a vicious cycle—one she couldn’t afford to fall into.

This had to stop.

That night, still a teenager, Mila sat on her dorm bed, wiping away tears she hadn’t even realized were falling. She pressed a hand to her heart and forced herself to repeat it, over and over:

“It’s okay. You just have to survive. Survive, and live well.”

“You tried. It didn’t work. Time to let go.”

“He was never really part of your world. There’s no future there. You’ll meet new people, better people, people who fit your life…”

In the darkness, she whispered it again and again, each repetition slicing away at the fragile, budding hope she’d dared to feel. She didn’t care how much it hurt—she steeled herself and kept going, determined to erase every trace of that impossible love from her heart.