Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 322

Midwinter.

Northpoint University, Research Institute.

The first major stage of the project was finally complete. Cheers and groans echoed through the office as everyone debated where to go for their celebratory dinner.

But in the corner, Mila and the project lead had already slipped away.

“Are you sure it’s okay to leave without saying anything to the others?” Mila whispered, a little worried about sneaking out.

“It’s fine,” Forrest replied with a gentle smile. He reached out and straightened her white knit hat, which she’d thrown on in her rush to leave.

“Make sure you wear your hat properly—you’ll catch a cold,” he chided softly. “Besides, I already sent the group a little bonus as a thank-you. It’s my job as team lead to be everyone’s personal ATM. And more importantly, I promised you I’d make hashbrowns to celebrate the end of this phase. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your appetite?”

Mila’s eyes lit up at the mention of hashbrowns.

She’d loved them since she was a child, but rarely got to eat them; after running away from home, she hadn’t tasted them in years, though she’d never stopped craving them. The first time she discovered Forrest knew how to make them—pure magic.

Of course she’d been thinking about it.

She nodded eagerly. “Thanks, Fory.”

“You always call me ‘Forrest’ or ‘senior’—but the second food’s involved, you get so sweet,” Forrest teased, his eyes crinkling with an easy warmth.

Mila just grinned, darted ahead a few steps, then spun around with a mischievous smile.

“Hurry up, Fory!”

“I’m coming.”

As the sun dipped low in the sky, Forrest watched her standing in the glowing orange light—her laughter bright as a flower, her smile gentle and radiant. His own smile deepened, softening the angles of his face as the golden sunlight glinted off his glasses.

He caught up to her, laughing.

. . .

They stopped by the market to pick up groceries, then headed to Forrest’s off-campus apartment.

Forrest took over the kitchen, turning out a table full of hearty, home-cooked dishes—most importantly, a generous plate of crispy hashbrowns and potato cakes, Mila’s favorites. The meal was simple, but it couldn’t have tasted better.

Afterwards, Forrest had to catch up on some project wrap-up and prep for the next phase, as any group leader would.

They walked back to campus together.

When they parted ways, Mila strolled toward her dorm, humming a tune. From a distance, she heard a commotion up ahead, and curiosity drew her closer—until she froze in place.

A crowd had gathered outside the dorm entrance. In the middle of it, a short, plump middle-aged woman in a bright red winter coat was sitting on the ground, wailing and shrieking with a raw accent straight from Mila’s hometown.