The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 238

Chapter 238

Ethan's POV

The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of monitors and Amber's soft breathing.

My son was curled up on the uncomfortable hospital chair that the nurses had converted into a makeshift bed, his small body bundled under a blanket they'd brought, his face peaceful in sleep.

He looked so innocent.

So unaware of the chaos swirling around him.

And here I was, keeping him in a hospital on Christmas Day.

What kind of father does that?

I stared at the ceiling, my chest tight with a familiar ache that had nothing to do with the malnutrition or the IV fluids still dripping into my veins.

This was guilt.

Pure, unfiltered guilt.

And I was drowning in it.

I'd spent these few days blaming everyone else for what had gone wrong in my life.

Cynthia for leaving me.

Bryan for pursuing her.

Kevin for existing.

Nikolai for showing up at the worst possible time.

Grace for lying to me my entire life.

Anna for betraying me.

Pascal for destroying my company.

But sitting here, alone in the darkness, with nothing but my thoughts and the sound of Amber's breathing…

I couldn't hide from the truth anymore.

This was my fault.

All of it.

Every single thing that had happened to me—every loss, every betrayal, every moment of pain—was karma.

It was the universe catching up with me.

Because I'd wronged Cynthia.

For eight years, I'd wronged her.

I'd neglected her. Dismissed her. Made her feel small and invisible and unworthy of love.

I'd let Anna walk all over her. Let Grace torment her. Let my own pride and stubbornness poison what should have been a partnership.

And when she finally left—when she finally found the strength to walk away—I'd had the audacity to be angry at her.

Like I was the victim.

Like she was the one who'd ruined everything.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.

I hated admitting this.

Hated acknowledging that I'd been the villain in my own story.

But it was true.

And no amount of anger or resentment or blame was going to change that.

I turned my head slightly, looking at Amber again.

He deserved better than this.

Better than a hospital room on Christmas morning.

For Amber's sake.

Because hating Cynthia—resenting the men in her life, pushing away the people who cared—wasn't going to change anything.

It wasn't going to fix Walker Industries.

It wasn't going to repair my relationship with my son.

It wasn't going to undo the damage I'd caused.

All it would do was make me more bitter. More alone. More broken.

And I was tired of being broken.

I picked up my phone again and scrolled to another contact.

Margaret, my assistant.

She answered on the second ring, her voice sharp and alert despite the early hour.

"Mr Waalker," she said. "Merry Christmas. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," I admitted. "But I'm alive. That's something."

"That's more than something," Margaret said. "We were all worried."

"I know," I said. "And I'm sorry. So, give me an update on what’s happening."

There was a pause.

Margaret sighed.

"The board is… restless," she said. "They're concerned about leadership stability. About the company's direction. About whether you're capable of steering us through this crisis."

"They want me out," I said flatly.

"Some of them do," Margaret admitted. "But not all. You still have supporters, Ethan. People who believe in you. But you need to show them you're still in this. That you're still fighting."

I exhaled slowly. It’s time to get my company back on track.