Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 542

The hospital room was white as snow.

The window stood half-open, letting in the rising warmth of early summer. The wind, heavy with the scent of grass and sunlight, kept pouring in, making the curtains whip and snap against the wall.

The angry shouts and frantic struggles from earlier had finally ebbed away.

Now, only the rush of wind filled the space.

For a long time, nothing but silence. Then, Sophia’s voice broke through, hoarse and edged with venom, almost a snarl: “What does my life have to do with you? Who the hell are you to meddle in my affairs?!”

How dare she!

“Your life has nothing to do with me, of course.” Mila exhaled, trying to keep her voice steady. “But Julian does. I took care of him for a while—he called me Mom. I can’t just turn a blind eye to what you’ve done to him.”

“You—! You dare bring that up?!”

Sophia exploded again.

She tried to push herself up, but every movement sent pain shooting from the injuries on her neck and ankle. Mila pressed her down with all her weight, pinning her to the bed. No matter how Sophia struggled, she couldn’t break free.

Her rage only grew.

Mila watched as Sophia thrashed, looking one spark away from losing control. This wasn’t what she wanted—her aim wasn’t to make Sophia furious. She just wanted Julian to be okay. And Sophia, whether Mila liked it or not, was the boy’s biological mother, his only living relative. There was no avoiding her.

If she wanted to truly solve this, she had to steady Sophia first.

Otherwise, it would only happen again.

Julian was just a child, and his uncle—Nathaniel Pembroke—was clearly no match for Sophia’s pressure. Mila couldn’t count on him at all.

And what if someday, Julian learned the truth? If he realized his father was a monster, and his mother—a monster, too—had conspired with others to ruin him? How could any child survive that?

She had to try. It was all she could do.

When Sophia’s rage swelled so much that she almost broke free, Mila, desperate, grabbed her chin and forced her face away—then knocked her own forehead against Sophia’s with a sharp crack. Her vision swam with pain.

At least it worked.

Sophia went still.

...

“Are you calm now?”

Mila asked, gritting her teeth against the ache in her head.

Sophia said nothing.

Mila didn’t wait for a reply. She seized the moment of quiet and poured out everything she’d been carrying. “Sophia, I never wanted to steal your child. He’s yours—always has been! But you can’t keep doing this. Do you really want him to grow up, figure everything out, and hate you for what you did to him?”

“That day will never come!” Sophia’s voice was raw, nearly a scream. “He’ll listen to me, always! He’d never dare defy me!”

“He’s your son!” Mila’s patience snapped, her words ringing with anger. “He’s not a pawn, not a tool for you to control. He’s a living, breathing person, with his own future! Just like you, just like me!”

She stopped, breath shuddering from her lungs.