The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 268

Chapter 268

Cynthia's POV

By evening, Miguel and Carmen had brought me to their actual home—a small, modest house on the edge of their farmland with peeling paint and a sagging porch, but warm and lived-in in a way that made my chest ache.

It reminded me of the beach house Ethan had bought us.

Before everything fell apart.

Carmen had given me a set of her daughter's old clothes—simple jeans and a worn sweater that smelled faintly of lavender and mothballs—and had laid out a plate of food on their small kitchen table.

Simple fare. Rice, beans, some roasted vegetables.

But it was the best meal I'd had in days.

"Gracias," I said for what felt like the hundredth time. "Thank you. For everything."

Carmen smiled gently, patting my hand across the table.

"De nada, mija," she said softly.

It's nothing, my daughter.

Miguel sat across from us, eating in silence, still clearly wary of me but not unkind.

After dinner, Carmen showed me to a small room at the back of the house—probably their daughter's old bedroom, judging by the faded floral wallpaper and the single bed with a patchwork quilt.

"Puedes dormir aquí esta noche," Carmen said. "Mañana salimos temprano."

You can sleep here tonight. Tomorrow we leave early.

"Gracias," I said again, my voice thick with emotion.

Carmen nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her.

I sat down on the bed, my entire body aching with exhaustion, but my mind still racing.

I'd been watching Miguel and Carmen all evening, looking for any sign of a phone.

Any way to contact my family.

To let them know I was alive.

To get help for Ethan faster.

But I hadn't seen anything.

No landline. No cell phones lying around. Nothing.

Which meant I needed to ask.

Even though I was terrified they'd say no.

Even though I was afraid of pushing my luck.

I stood and walked back out into the main living area, where Miguel was settling into an old armchair, reading a newspaper by lamplight.

"Miguel," I said hesitantly. "¿Tienes un teléfono? A phone? I need to call my family. To let them know I'm alive."

Miguel looked up at me, his expression tired.

"Tengo uno," he said. "But it's dead. No charge."

I have one, but it's dead.

My heart sank. "Can you charge it? ¿Puedes cargarlo?"

Miguel shook his head. "No tenemos electricidad. Hace meses que el gobierno cortó el servicio. Nunca lo restauraron."

We don't have electricity. The government cut the service months ago. They never restored it.

My chest tightened.

No electricity.

No way to charge a phone.

No way to contact anyone until tomorrow when we reached Missford.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Miguel just grunted and went back to his newspaper.

I returned to the small bedroom, closing the door behind me, and sank onto the bed.

No electricity.

The government had abandoned this entire community.

Left them in the dark—literally.

And suddenly, I found myself making a mental note.

If I get out of this alive, I'm talking to Nathaniel. We'll do something about this. We'll get them electricity. We'll help them.

It was the least I could do after everything Miguel and Carmen were risking to help me.

I lay down on the bed, pulling the quilt up around me, and stared at the ceiling.

My mind drifted.

To Ethan, the warehouse, and then, unbidden, to Anna.

Anna, who'd helped us escape.

Who'd untied me.

Who'd looked genuinely remorseful for the first time in… ever.

What had changed?

Anna had been a thorn in my side for years.

Always interfering. Always manipulating. Always making my life with Ethan impossible.

And her biggest stunt — the one that had driven the final wedge between me and Ethan — had been the worst.

Amber had gasped, coughing, crying, but breathing.

Alive.

I'd held him against my chest, sobbing with relief, my entire body shaking.

And then Ethan had come home.

Anna had gotten to him first.

"It was terrible," she'd said, tears streaming down her face. "Cynthia left Amber alone in the living room while she was cooking. I found him choking. I tried to help but I didn't know what to do. If she'd been watching him properly…"

"That's not true!" I'd shouted. "I asked you to watch him! You were supposed to be…"

"I was in the bathroom for two minutes," Anna had interrupted, her voice shaking. "I came back and he was already choking. You weren't even here, Cynthia."

Ethan had looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before.

Cold. Distant. Disappointed.

"You left our son alone?" he'd asked quietly.

"No!" I'd said desperately. "Anna was watching him! I asked her to…"

"She's lying, Ethan," Anna had said, crying harder now. "I don't know why she's trying to blame me, but she wasn't in the room. She left him alone."

And Ethan had believed her.

Of course he had.

Because Anna was the victim.

Anna, whose parents had died saving us.

Anna, who could do no wrong.

He'd taken Amber from my arms without a word and walked away.

And from that day forward, everything had changed.

Ethan had stopped trusting me with Amber, stopped looking at me like I was his partner and stopped treating me like I mattered.

And Anna had won.

….

I opened my eyes, tears streaming down my face.

That had been the beginning of the end.

The day I noticed that Ethan had started to withdraw completely.

The moment our marriage had begun its slow, painful death.

And now, years later, Anna had helped us escape.

What changed?