No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 33

ETHAN'S POV

“She was what?” I muttered under my breath, my voice barely rising above a whisper, yet heavy enough to echo against the dining room. The words on my phone screen blurred for a moment as my pulse quickened, my vision tightening as though the walls themselves were closing in on me.

Without thinking, my fingers flew over the keypad. “Babe, what’s really happened? Where are you now?” I hit send, my thumb trembling slightly. But almost instantly, my heart sank when I saw her status — offline. I dialed her number, pressing the phone hard to my ear as if that would force it to connect. But all I heard was the cold, automated voice telling me the line was switched off.

My hand went to my hair, raking it back in frustration, and for a moment, the dining room, once warm and full of delicious smells, felt suffocating. How could she drop something like this on me and then disappear? My mind raced, she said she couldn’t stop bleeding… Has something happened to the baby? My baby?

A dull ache began to build in my chest, each breath coming shorter and faster. No, nothing could happen to my unborn child. That child was my future, my chance to build something new after everything that happened with Lauren. I clenched my jaw, trying to steady myself, but all I could think of was Sofia lying in a hospital bed, pale and fragile, our baby’s life hanging in the balance.

Why was I still here? Every instinct screamed at me to get up and run out the door. Yet my eyes were pulled back to the small figure beside me. Elena sat in her chair, her little legs swinging back and forth, completely unaware of the storm swirling inside me. She had her spoon in one hand, ready to scoop another bite, her cheeks still flushed with the excitement of being home.

How do I tell her? My chest tightened. I’d left before, so many times, always with work as the excuse. Birthdays, school recitals, moments that should have been ours but were lost to late-night calls that still brought me back to Sofia. And now, once again, I was about to walk away.

But this was different, wasn’t it? This was about her sibling, about keeping our family whole. I forced myself to believe that.

“Uhmm, sweetheart,” I began, my voice softer than I’d intended. Her eyes lifted, those same hazel eyes that mirrored my own. In that gaze, I saw silent questions, a trace of hope, and the unspoken plea for me to stay.

“Daddy needs to tell you something,” I continued, trying to smile, but it felt like my lips barely moved. “Something important came up, okay? Daddy has to go and attend to it right now. But I want you to eat as much as you like, and if you need anything, Rosa will be here to help you. Alright?”

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Her small hand, still gripping the baby spoon, froze mid-air. Slowly, her gaze lowered to her plate, and she gently pushed her food around without lifting another bite. The silence between us felt heavier than anything I’d ever carried.

Her expression changed — not anger, not tears, just a quiet resignation that cut deeper than any accusation could have. That look… it was as if she was thinking: Of course he’s leaving. He always leaves.

I opened my mouth to say something more, to promise her that I’d make it up to her later, that this was only temporary but the words died in my throat. They felt empty, even to me. Instead, I gently brushed her hair away from her face.

“I'm so sorry, baby. I promise I’ll buy you all the toys you want on my way back,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm even though inside, everything felt like it was shattering. “I'm not gonna take too long, okay.”

Outside, the late afternoon sun felt harsher than usual, almost accusing. Today, I wasn’t going to wait for my driver to pull the car around, I couldn’t. My chest felt tight, every heartbeat loud in my ears. I had to drive myself if I wanted to get to Sofia quickly enough.

“Please be okay,” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible, almost like a prayer. My hand trembled slightly as I unlocked the car and slipped behind the wheel, the leather seats cold against my back.

As I started the engine and pulled away from the house, something caught my eye, a quick flash of movement. Parked a short distance from the estate gate was a black motorbike, its paint dull and dusty compared to the polished cars usually seen around here. A man sat astride it, helmet on, his head slightly bowed like he was watching something or someone.

It didn’t fit. Everyone in this neighborhood drove expensive cars, symbols of wealth and status. In all the years I’d lived here, I’d never once seen an old bike parked so close to my property.

For a split second, unease prickled at the back of my neck, but I shook it off. I couldn’t afford distractions right now. Whoever he was, he wasn’t my problem at the moment. Sofia was.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and pressed harder on the gas pedal, the engine roaring to life as I sped down the familiar road. Guilt clawed at me the faster I went.