Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 344

“Mila.”

“Mila, over here! This way!”

“Mila!”

A woman dressed in deep crimson robes walked through the night, the faint scent of incense drifting around her. The distant calls echoed through the darkness, swirling closer and closer, drawing her forward.

The night was thick and heavy.

Step by step, she moved ahead, drawn toward the voices.

They grew clearer—closer.

But just then, a sudden weight yanked at her arm. Metal clanked loudly. She looked down and found, without knowing when or how, a heavy chain had coiled around her wrist, its weight and pressure pinning her in place.

Where had this chain come from?

She glanced around, but the world had vanished into utter blackness. The mountains, the stony path—gone, swallowed by the dark.

Out of nowhere, a child’s laughter rang out behind her.

“One, two, three… Heaven! Hahaha, I made it to heaven—I win!”

Startled, she turned.

Beneath the warm glow of a streetlamp, a small girl in worn clothes hopped across chalk-drawn squares, finally landing triumphantly on the last one labeled “Heaven.” She threw her arms up in victory, while several other children nearby clapped and cheered.

The light flickered out—then came back on.

The little girl was older now, sitting with a group of girls her age as they wove friendship bracelets together. At the end, the girl giggled, “I win again.”

The girl jumped rope next, and—again—she won.

The light faded, then flared up once more.

Now she was in middle school, sitting at her desk. At the front of the classroom, her English teacher announced loudly, “Let’s all congratulate Mila for winning first prize in the state art competition!”

The whole class erupted in applause.

Grinning, the girl beamed, “I won!”

With top marks in the state, she entered high school, then scored in the top ten nationwide to enroll at Northpoint University. College brought more competitions, more national awards—her life was a string of victories.

Every time the light faded and returned, another triumph.

With each cycle, the girl grew up a little more—her clothes changing from ragged to bright, her steps from hesitant to sure. She fought her way forward, carving a path through thorns and hardship, yet always surrounded by the music of triumph and confidence shining in her clear eyes.

Mila stood in the darkness, watching this younger, ever-brighter version of herself blossom beneath the warm light. Her chest ached with emotion.

And then, one day, the light went out.

Gone—for seven long years.