Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 429

Adrian’s eyes were red and brimming with tears as he choked out, “Dad, when are you and Mom coming back? I really miss you both.”

“Very soon,” came the gentle reply.

Lysander smiled softly. “Didn’t I tell you? Real men don’t cry, remember?”

“I’m not crying!” Adrian quickly wiped his eyes and lifted his small face, trying his best to look brave. “I am a man!”

Lysander’s smile deepened, his gaze lingering on the stubborn little face on the screen—those fox-like eyes, so much like his own. His voice was rarely this tender.

“Time for bed now. Mom and Dad will be home before you know it.”

***

In the bedroom, Mila stirred on her side, eyes barely open. One hand was hidden beneath her pillow, trembling where it rested on the hilt of a knife. After a few seconds, she clenched it tightly.

***

After soothing Adrian and ending the call, Lysander returned to the bedroom. The warmth was gone from his demeanor. He lay down next to Mila, expression blank, staring at her frail, motionless back. A sigh slipped out.

Time turns in circles.

How did we end up here?

He reached out, placing a hand gently on her thin back, tracing the line of her spine with care. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and low.

“Mila.”

“He’s our son—flesh and blood, part of you and me. He’s just a child.”

At the very least, you can’t be so cruel to him.

Mila didn’t answer. Lysander’s sharp brows twitched, as if he couldn’t bear it any longer. He pulled her roughly into his arms, holding her tight.

Sometimes, he thought, it was like some kind of curse.

***

“Dad, where’s Mom?”

Twenty years ago, a ten-year-old Lysander looked up, glaring fiercely at the tall, silent man in front of him—his father.

“It’s been twenty days! I haven’t seen Mom for twenty days! Where is she?!”

Conrad’s face was dark, his patience thin. “She’s away on a trip. She’ll be back soon.”

“Liar!” Lysander’s voice shook with anger. “No matter where Mom goes, she always answers my calls. But for twenty days, she hasn’t picked up once. You’re lying, Dad!”

Conrad’s expression grew even colder. He was just about to lash out when the butler burst into the room, breathless and excited. “Sir! We’ve found her!”

Relief broke through Conrad’s stern features. Without another word, he instructed the staff to keep an eye on Lysander and hurried away. That night, his mother came home.

Lysander was thrilled and ran to find her, but was stopped outside her bedroom door. Inside, the sounds of a fierce argument echoed, punctuated by shattering glass. Fear welled up inside him. He pounded desperately on the door.

At last it opened, and his father appeared, exhausted and grim. Lysander tried to get past him to see his mother, but was scooped up and carried away.

“Mom just needs some time alone.”

***

The following year, when Lysander turned eleven, his little brother was born.

They named him Eugene Montgomery.

Suddenly, he remembered his little brother, now two years old. The last time he’d visited, Eugene wouldn’t stop crying until Lysander showed him a photo of their mom.

Why couldn’t they all live together, he wondered? Mom seemed well. Eugene too. Didn’t his brother miss their mom, just as much as he did?

“Mom?” Lysander looked up at her pale, beautiful face, giving her hand a soft shake. “I talked to Eugene’s nanny. She said he’s all better now. Can he come home? He really misses you.”

Felicity’s expression froze, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What did you say?”

“Eugene, Mom! You haven’t seen him in so long. He’s two now, and he has the prettiest green eyes.”

Suddenly—thud! The storybook crashed down on his head. Stunned, Lysander touched his forehead. His fingers came away red with blood.

It stung.

Mom… hit me?

Before he could even process what was happening, the woman who’d just been reading him gentle stories twisted into a screaming banshee.

“What did you say?! Green eyes? That thing is a monster! A monster!”

“He’s not my child! He’s not! I never had that child, never! Monster, monster! Keep them away! They’re all monsters!”

She swept a hand across the table, sending tea and china crashing to the ground, and slipped, falling onto a pile of shattered glass. Blood spattered everywhere.

Her eyes went dull and lifeless, her voice a whisper of death.

“You’re all monsters. Monsters.”

The events of that day were etched into Lysander’s memory like scars carved into flesh—haunting him, night after night, with nightmares he could never escape.