Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 284

That was a kind of madness Lysander had never seen before.

He wanted to stop her, but his body refused to move. All he could do was watch, helpless, as the woman who had once been his gentle, radiant wife hacked the beloved dress he’d given her to shreds.

When it was finally done, she stood amid the scattered scraps of fabric, the knife slipping from her trembling fingers and hitting the floor with a dull clatter.

…

Mila was gasping for breath, her chest heaving with emotion so fierce it threatened to tear her apart.

Her whole body shook uncontrollably. At last, she reached for the cheap, rough wedding ring on the table, tears in her eyes as she forced a brittle smile at Lysander, who stood frozen across from her.

“This is the ring you threw at me on our wedding day,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Back then, Lysander hadn’t even bothered to put it on her finger; he’d just tossed it her way—a ring as careless and unrefined as the gesture itself.

From the very beginning, it had all been a joke.

Mila let out a hollow laugh, loosened her grip, and let the ring slip from her hand. It hit the floor and she ground it beneath her heel, discarding it like a piece of trash.

At last—

She picked up the last thing left on the table: a small Red Hat robot.

It was a gift from Lysander on their wedding night, something he’d made himself. She had cherished it as a token of their love.

But later, she learned that it wasn’t a symbol of affection at all—it was Lysander’s cruelest humiliation.

The robot’s AI assistant, which Lysander had personally programmed, could receive messages from her phone. But no matter what she sent, the only reply it ever gave was: I don’t love you.

Always the same. Clear as day.

This was what seven years of marriage had come to—just as meaningless, just as laughable as the day it began.

For years, she’d clung to it, unable to make sense of things, treating this one gift from Lysander like a priceless treasure. Now, with trembling hands, she raised it high and hurled it at him.

The little robot struck his chest, bounced off, rolled across the floor, and toppled onto its side. The red hat it wore sat askew.

It was over.

She and Lysander were finished—completely and utterly finished.

…

The wind howled outside, rain lashing against the windows.

A long silence passed before Mila finally spoke, her voice hoarse and raw, as she admitted the truth at last. “Lysander, I’ve never understood you. And I don’t want to try anymore.”

“Please, let me go.”