The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 85

Chapter 85

Ethan’s POV

The house was quiet when I got home, but not the oppressive silence I’d grown accustomed to.

I found Amber in the living room, propped up on the couch with pillows, a blanket draped over his legs. He was watching something on his tablet, but he looked up the moment I walked in.

He looked better. Color in his cheeks. Eyes brighter than they’d been since the surgery.

“Dad!” He set the tablet aside. “You’re back.”

“How are you feeling, buddy?” I sat on the edge of the couch, studying his face for any signs of pain or discomfort.

“Better. Mrs. Daniels made me soup.” He paused, his expression turning eager. “Have you spoken to Mom? Did she say when she would meet me?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut.

I thought about what I’d witnessed at the restaurant of Cynthia with that man and having a child. The way she’d walked away without looking back.

“Amber, your mom…”

I didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

Amber’s face fell, frustration replacing the hope. “I don’t get it, Dad. Why don’t you believe me when I say Mom came to see me at the hospital?”

“Amber…”

“She told me she loved me,” he insisted, his voice rising. “She said she would meet me, and I believe her. It counts, Dad. Her

words count.”

I stared at my son, seeing the conviction in his eyes. He truly believed Cynthia had been there. That she’d held his hand and told

him she loved him.

Could it be true? Had she actually found a way to sneak in?

“Also,” Amber continued, his tone shifting, “I really don’t like seeing Aunt Anna again. She’s not a good person.”

I frowned. “Why would you say that?”

Amber was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Even at eleven, he had a thoughtfulness about him that sometimes caught me off guard.

“Aunt Anna hated Mom,” he said finally. “I was too young to understand it back then, when Mom was still here. But Aunt Anna told me a lot of terrible things about her.”

My stomach dropped, Amber had said this before and saying it again now means more emphasis. “What things?

“That Mom was lazy. That she didn’t care about me. That she wasn’t good enough to be a Walker.” Amber’s voice was steady, but his eyes were wet. “I believed it, Dad. For a long time, I believed everything Anna said.”

“Amber…”

“But as I got older, I started thinking about it more.” He looked at me, and there was something almost accusatory in his gaze. I started wondering… what if Mom left because of the way Anna treated her? The way Grandina treated her?”

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He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked.

“Dad, you’re not entirely innocent yourself.”

The words landed like a blow.

“In school, I learned that a marriage is a happy one where the father cares for the mother.” Tears were streaming down his face now. “You and Mom were never happy together. And it affected me, Dad. A lot.”

I reached for him, but he kept talking.

“The house was always so gloomy. So sad. I used to go places with Aunt Anna just so I wouldn’t have to see Mom’s sad face. Just so I wouldn’t have to hear the way Grandma spoke to her.” His voice broke into a sob. “I thought Mom was… I thought she was a

lazy and unworthy mom. That’s what everyone told me. That’s what I believed.”

“Amber, I…”

“But I’ve come to realize it wasn’t her fault.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to compose himself. “None of it was her fault. And I won’t blame her for anything anymore. I trust her, Dad. She loves me. She told me so. And she’s going to come for me.”

He looked at me with those red–rimmed eyes, so full of hope and hurt and hard–won wisdom.

“So please, Dad. Set up a meeting with Mom. Even if you don’t want her as your wife anymore…” He swallowed hard. “I want her as my mother.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

I sat there, my son’s words echoing in my head, stripping away every excuse I’d ever made for myself.

He was right. About all of it.

I had failed Cynthia. Failed to protect her from my mother, from Anna, from my own indifference. I had watched her wilt in my house and done nothing.

And my son had seen it all, he had internalized it, carried the weight of our broken marriage on his small shoulders.

I pulled Amber into my arms, holding him tight as he cried against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, buddy.”

“Do you still want Mom?” Amber asked, his voice muffled against my shirt.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I still want her.”

Amber pulled back, looking up at me with sudden hope. “Then let’s win her heart back.”

I stared at my son shocked that he had grown so much.

“You think we can?” I asked,

“I think we have to try.” He wiped his nose. “Together. You and me, Dad. We have to show Mom that we love her. That we’re sorry. That things will be different.”

I cupped his face in my hands.

“When did you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been smart,” he said with a watery smile. “You just never noticed.”

Another truth that cut deep.