Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 545

The living room fell silent in an instant.

Mila sat quietly at the dining table, her expression dazed. She'd known Adrian would have trouble accepting this, but she hadn't expected such an intense reaction let alone for him to say those things.

They said... Who?

No, this wasn't the time to get lost in questions.

She needed to go to him. Comfort him.

This could turn out to be a big deal or maybe nothing at all.

But... when she tried to get up, her body felt impossibly heavy, as if she was anchored to the chair-like she was drowning, unable to muster the strength to stand.

She couldn't move.

Her heart felt just as weighed down, a leaden ache in her chest.

The cozy warmth and the scent of food had faded from the room, leaving behind only a cold, hollow stillness.

After a moment, Mila flexed her fingers, stiff from holding her fork for so long, and slowly reached for the food on her plate. Her movements were sluggish; she ate bite by bite, barely tasting anything.

"It's cold now. Not good anymore," she murmured, swallowing mechanically.

She only managed a few bites before giving up-though she didn't feel hungry at all. Forcing herself to her feet, she began to clear the table, stooping to pick up the chicken drumstick that had been kicked under the table. She steadied herself against the tabletop, then dumped the cold leftovers into the trash.

Her stomach hadn't been the same these last few years; she'd long since stopped eating leftovers. She never let the kids eat them either.

After washing the dishes, Mila paused, then set about tidying the mess in the living room, restoring the scattered furniture to its rightful place, smoothing the chaos little by little.

As the house regained its order, her thoughts gradually settled too.

Only then did she climb the stairs.

She stopped first in the guest bathroom to take a shower. It was late-she had no idea if Adrian had gone to sleep. Standing outside his bedroom door, she hesitated, choosing not to turn the knob right away, but instead knocked softly.

No answer.

knocked again, and again—three times

turned the handle and stepped inside. Light from the hallway spilled in, stretching long across the floor and

down beside the bed, gently resting her hand atop the bundled-up blanket. Beneath

Mila spoke: "I never

I have my own life too. I have things I want for myself. You don't have to force yourself to accept it. If you don't like it, you don't have to call him 'Dad.' Call him whatever

she wasn't going to change her

her life was her

had her

wasn't so opposed to the idea. Life would go as it would. No one could predict the future, and she

needed

just because of Adrian's feelings—nor would she expect him to

to repeat

you those things, aren't you here with me now?" Mila went on, her voice gentle. "Can you try to ask me about things that happen

through

lump beneath

was utterly

time, a muffled, hoarse voice finally emerged from under the blanket -he must have been crying. "If I don't like it,

"I can't."

to have its

own

Adrian fell silent.

asking, "If get married again, will you have another child? If you have a better kid, someone who

"...No."

closer, pressing her forehead gently against the quilted mound. "No matter

her words, the trembling under the

out

while, Mila softly asked, "Do you

The blanket trembled.

a little head with tousled hair peeked out. Whether from shyness or simply not wanting her to see his tear-streaked face, he burrowed straight into

His voice was muffled.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

then, in a very small voice, added, “I was just scared... I keep making you angry, and I'm afraid you'll stop

darkness, Mila's