Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 438

Chapter 432

"Ma'am."

A man's familiar voice echoed through the haze of her mind. Mila blinked, her

eyelids heavy, her vision flooded with harsh, sterile white. The curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze.

She was lying in a hospital bed.

Slowly, Mila sat upright, glancing around. No one was there. The room was silent but for her own breathing, and her memories began to drift back.

It all came flooding in.

She and Lysander had gone to that party.

Then-gunshots.

Her fingers tightened, clutching the crisp white sheets, twisting them into creases. She remembered—so much blood. No matter how desperately she pressed, nothing could stop it. The body beneath her trembling hands had gone cold, growing steadily, impossibly cold.

Suddenly, the door swung open.

"Ma'am, you're awake."

Leonard hurried in, catching sight of her sitting on the bed, dazed and silent. He rushed closer, concern etching his features. "Are you feeling any pain? Is there anything wrong?"

He pressed the call button for the nurse.

Mila shook her head, slow and deliberate.

It was strange. She didn't seem to feel anything-not pain, not sorrow, not even relief. Mostly, it was a hollow, surreal detachment, as if everything she saw and heard was muffled by an invisible layer of water.

Everything was blurred.

Wait-right before she lost consciousness, she'd seen Francis, and Leonard... Did they make it? Were they safe?

She tried to speak, to ask.

"Ah..."

escaped her lips. Mila froze, shock rooting her in place. It took her a long moment to realize—she couldn't talk. No sound would come

tightened

button, he dashed out, returning moments later with a

his head. "This is a case of psychological muteness. Medication won't help. Only time and her own mind- can resolve it. Try to keep her emotions

doctor left, silence

but now a strange sense of calm had taken over. She suppressed the instinct to

*How is he?*

grew taut, his expression

of wind caught the curtains, sending them billowing against the white- washed walls. It was a long time before Leonard finally

*Gone?*

turned away, unable to meet Mila's blank, searching gaze. His fists

Funeral?

So, he was dead?

Really dead?

sat there, numb, as a wave of exhaustion crept up from her heart, spreading through her limbs, dragging her down until she collapsed back onto the bed. Her eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling,

He's gone.

Leonard's heart. He crouched down beside the bed, gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white, fighting

it came, was

broken.

ma'am, it's okay to cry. Don't

Don't look like that.

pushing her, deceiving her, using her, hurting her... arrogant, untouchable,

Why should she grieve?

nothing at all. Or maybe

just wanted to

A few days later.

simple black dress. She cradled a pale marble urn in her hands, face expressionless, eyes as

yet, inside, she

was in the end, everyone ended up the same. Just a handful of ashes, indistinguishable from

Still...

typed out a message on her phone

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