The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 316

Chapter 316

Cynthia's POV

During the car ride from the Laurent mansion to the Walker estate, our son sat pressed against his father's side, one small hand gripping Ethan's shirt, his head resting on Ethan's shoulder.

Like he was afraid that if he let go, even for a moment, Ethan would disappear again.

I understood the feeling completely.

I'd barely let go of Ethan myself since the police station.

My hand had been in his constantly, our fingers intertwined, and even now in the car I kept reaching over to touch his face, his arm, his chest—anywhere I could reach—just to confirm he was real.

Amber had fought sleep valiantly, his eyes drooping closed then snapping back open every few minutes as he forced himself to stay awake.

"I'm not tired," he'd insisted, even as his head lolled against Ethan's shoulder.

"I know, buddy," Ethan had said gently, stroking Amber's hair. "But your body needs rest. And I promise, I'll be here when you wake up."

"You better be," Amber had mumbled, his words slurring with exhaustion.

And finally he'd given in, his small body going limp against Ethan's side, his breathing evening out into the deep rhythm of sleep.

I'd felt both relief and a twinge of guilt at my relief.

Because I loved my son desperately.

But I also desperately needed time alone with my husband.

Time to talk. Time to process. Time to just be together without an audience.

When we'd pulled up to the Walker mansion, Mr. Lan had been waiting at the gate, his weathered face breaking into the biggest smile I'd seen in months.

"Mr. Walker!" he'd called out, his voice thick with emotion. "You're home! You're actually home!"

Mrs. Daniels—the housekeeper who'd maintained the mansion meticulously for six months despite everyone telling her to accept that Ethan was gone—had actually burst into tears when she saw him.

"I knew," she'd said, gripping Ethan's hands. "I knew you'd come back. I told everyone you would."

Ethan had been gracious and kind with both of them, thanking them for their dedication, for keeping his home ready.

But I could see the exhaustion pulling at him.

We'd carried Amber up to his room—Ethan insisting on helping despite clearly being in no condition to carry anything—and tucked him into bed.

Our son had stirred slightly but hadn't woken, just mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over.

And then it was just us.

Standing in the hallway outside Amber's room.

Alone for the first time in six months.

The silence felt heavy, weighted with everything we needed to say and didn't know how to start.

Ethan reached for my hand.

"Come with me," he said quietly.

I followed him down the familiar hallways of the Walker mansion — the home I'd lived in during our marriage, the home I'd fled from in hurt and anger, the home I'd returned to countless times over the past months hoping to find some trace of him.

He led me to the master bedroom.

Our bedroom.

The space I'd shared with him before everything fell apart, before Grace's manipulations and Anna's lies had driven wedges between us that we'd been too hurt and stubborn to overcome.

Mrs. Daniels had kept it pristine.

The bed made with crisp linens. The curtains drawn back to let in moonlight. Everything exactly as it had been, waiting for us to return.

Ethan closed the door behind us and turned to face me.

"I need a shower," he said, his voice rough.

I nodded, understanding completely.

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