The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 7

#7

Chapter 7

**Ethan’s POV**.

The Bennett project had consumed me for forty–eight hours straight.

I’d camped out at the office, living on cold coffee and the adrenaline of closing what could be Walker Industries‘ biggest deal in five years.

Now, pulling into the driveway of my family home at six in the evening, I can’t help but remember my last conversation with Cynthia. She had overheard what Anna said back at the hospital and I know she’s going to want to talk about it.

She would start with a concerned face asking about my day, her gentle reminders that I’d missed dinner last night, her soft voice suggesting I rest. Questions disguised as care. Complaints wrapped in sweetness. (1)

I was too tired for it. (1)

I’d prepared myself on the drive home, mentally bracing for the inevitable guilt trip. I would be kind but firm. I would make it clear that my work was important, that my success provided for this family, and that she should just stop picking on Anna because Anna has done nothing wrong to her. Matter–of–factly, it is because of Anna that we are still alive. 1

I opened the door and went straight to the dining area, expecting the smell of food, but I met the table with a bowl of unfinished cereal that Amber had probably left in a haste. It was unlike Cynthia to leave the bowl here, she always enjoy doing chores and wouldn’t miss any slight eyesore like this.

“Hello?” I called out. “Cynthia?” 1

I made my way to the kitchen, expecting to find her probably dishing out food or something but the kitchen looked untouched, not a single pot on the stove, not a cutting board out.

No dinner? Was this some kind of joke? Was it April Fool’s Day, and had Amber convinced her to hide all the food as a prank? But in eight years, nothing like this had ever happened. 1

“Mother?” I called, moving toward the living room.

She emerged from the parlor, martini in hand, looking more annoyed than concerned. “Oh, you’re finally home.”

“Where’s Cynthia?” I asked, unreasonable irritation already rising in my chest. “Why isn’t dinner ready?”

“That crazy wife of yours disappeared for two days.” Mother took a sip of her drink. “I haven’t seen her since after that dinner with Mr. Brown. I assume she’s run off somewhere, probably looking for attention.” 2

The irritation froze. “Two days? And you didn’t think to…”

“Think to what? Call her? You’re her husband. Why didn’t you call her?” Mother’s voice was sharp. “Besides, at her age, she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She’s probably sulking somewhere because you haven’t been paying her enough attention.” 1

I opened my mouth to respond, but Amber appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes.

“Dad? I’m hungry. Where’s Mom?”

“You haven’t seen your mother either?” I asked, my unease crystallizing.

“Not since almost two days now.” Amber yawned. “I had to call Aunt Anna to take me to school. She picked me up for lunch too.”

“She left without telling anyone where she was going?” I was trying to plece this together, trying to understand how Cynthia could simply vanish from a house full of people without anyone actually noticing until now.

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“She loves drama,” Mother said dismissively. “This is just another one of her attention–seeking stunts. She’ll be back once she realizes no one is rushing to find her.”

But Amber was already laughing, and the sound turned my stomach.

“My mom actually imitated others and ran away from home,” he said, shaking his head at the absurdity. “Did she think anyone would really look for her?”

“Amber.” The sharpness of my reprimand surprised us both. “That’s enough.”

My son flinched, looking wounded, and I immediately felt a twist of guilt. But the feeling was overwhelmed by the uncomfortable crawling up the back of my neck.

Where was Cynthia? She definitely doesn’t have the boldness to leave for anywhere without letting me know, or at least taking Amber along.

“We need to order takeout,” Mother announced, already on her phone. “Your wife’s absence is no reason the rest of us should starve.”

***

The food arrived an hour later, greasy Chinese food. It was terrible. The oil pooled on the plates, the salt was overwhelming, every bite was a reminder that Cynthia’s presence is very important in this house.

I hated it but we had no cook in the house because Cynthia had been doing the cooking since forever, she is literally the best cook and didn’t need any assistance, exactly why we do not have domestic staff.

Amber pushed his food around, complaining between bites. “This is disgusting. Why can’t we have Mom’s cooking? Where did mom go?”

No one answered. We just sat in the dining room, eating bad food, and the absence of Cynthia seemed to grow with every silent minute.

“She’ll come back. Women like that always do. They run off, realize no one cares enough to chase them, and slink back home with their tail between their legs.” My mother said as she munched on the terrible food.

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