Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 475 No matter how many times he tried to recall it, all that filled his mind was the cold, empty shell of a mansion.

That was where he grew up.

Twenty years each day indistinguishable from the last.

Just like Johnnie always said, he lived a life that wasn't real. Every day, he wore a mask, never daring to let anyone see his true face. All for a hope so faint he barely dared to admit it even to himself. Yet, even now, knowing it was impossible, he still couldn't take off the mask.

He didn't know how to take it off anymore.

The mask had fused with his skin and bone.

He couldn't remove it.

Eugene staggered to his feet, blinking hard to keep the tears from spilling over. His voice cout rough but steady. "I don't need a family." It wasn't that no one offered.

He was the one who refused.

He walked toward the door. As he pulled it open, Johnnie's voice sounded behind him, flat but unwavering. "Eugene, no matter what you think, your mentor will always wait for you to chome. If you want it, our strength is your strength. We support you-no matter what." Eugene stepped out the door.

Outside, he wandered through the crowd, finally stopping on the bustling sidewalk outside the club, staring at the endless stream of cars sliding past.

For a moment, he stood there, lost.

He realized he had nowhere to go.

His mind was blank.

When he cto, he was already standing in front of Mila's apartment. Without thinking, he pressed his finger to the digital lock. A soft beep sounded. The door unlocked-it recognized his print.

Right. He remembered, a little dazed-after New Year's, Mila had added his fingerprint to the lock. She'd told him he could cby whenever he wanted. Cby whenever.

He stepped inside on autopilot, opened the living room door, and was immediately hit by the rich aroma of simmering meat. He followed the smell to the dining room but stopped short at the threshold, for sreason unable to bring himself to go in.

He looked inside.

A large pot sat in the middle of the table, filled to the brim with hearty ribs. Mila, in a cozy knit dress, her dark hair lazily twisted up, was cradling a bowl of broth, sipping with a frown-each sip made her wince, but her face shone with quiet satisfaction.

He couldn't help but think: Even with a sore throat, she can't resist. She can't eat a proper meal, so she drinks the soup instead.

Adorable.

The thought softened his eyes, and sof the numbness in his expression faded away. He unconsciously took a step forward.

"Hey, you're back?" Mila spotted him and spoke automatically, but her voice caught in her sore throat. She quickly picked up her phone and typed out a message, sending it to the hassistant.

A cheery electronic voice rang out in the living room: "Where have you been? It's so late! I made ribs-chave some!" The message boomed loud enough for even the neighbors to hear. Satisfied, Mila typed another line. "I just remembered we have a hassistant. It can talk for me! How about that?" She looked quite pleased with her own cleverness.

When Eugene lingered by the door, she enthusiastically fired off another message. The robotic voice echoed again: "Ceat sribs! Don't tellyou already ate out?" "No, I haven't," Eugene finally replied, snapping out of his trance.

"Good! Con, then!" Mila's fingers flew across her phone. "I got busy this afternoon, then realized I couldn't eat much, but soup would do. Also, I heard you got in a fight-who knows if you broke anything-so eat up, that whole pot's yours." Now that she had a stand-in to talk for her, Mila couldn't stop herself from rambling.

Eugene grabbed a meaty rib, resigned. "Sis, I'm fine. Didn't break any bones." "Sdifference," Mila texted back.

When they were kids-her little brother, the other kids in the family, even distant cousins whenever someone got sick or burt, there was always a big pot of bone broth on the stove. Sometimes chicken soup. But lately, she couldn't stand the sight of chicken, so ribs itwas. To Mila, it made little difference.

Both were nourishing.

Eugene didn't protest. He'd eaten her cooking plenty of times, but for sreason, tonight, as ke bit into the el ske familiar ribs, the taste and scent overwhelmed him. His nose stung, and the tears he'd held back for so long finally spilled over.

"What happened?" Mila looked up from her phone, startled. Theconcern in her voice made her forget all about her sore throat. "Did I not allaboutr cook the ribs long enough? Are they tough?" She thought maybe the meat was undercooked and he'd hurt his teeth.

But that couldn't be—she reached for a rib to test it herself when, suddenly, Eugene leaned over and buried his face in the curve of her neck, his tears soaking her sweater.

"You-" She started to comfort him, but he shook his head.

"Sis, you don't have to say anything. Just stay witha while. I'm all right, really, I just—I just..." His voice broke. "Sis, I miss my mother. I want to see her." So that's what it was. He missed his mom.

But...

Mila hesitated, unsure what to do. Anything else, she could handle, but this? Especially with Felicity in her current state-she'd even forgotten she'd ever been married, let alone that she'd had a child.

If they met now, there was no telling how much it might hurt them both.

And...