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Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE PILOT'S EX WIFE: Kabanata 181 - Kabanata 190

199 Kabanata

182

The racetrack is packed to the rafters, a bustling, vibrant tide of people, and I feel a little overwhelmed by the noise and energy. People all around us are shouting, cheering on their favorite drivers as the machines roar down the track.In the midst of all this confusion, I hold Miguel's hand, and his little heart beats with contagious excitement.“Look there, uncle!” Miguel shouts, his eyes shining as if he were in front of one of his miniature toy races, but on a monumental scale.Unfortunately, all the good seats have already been taken.Then, with an eager smile, I decide to put him on my shoulders. “There you go, champ! Now you can see everything!”Miguel bursts into euphoric joy, his cries of excitement echoing through the crowd. The feel of his small body settling on my shoulders brings me unexpected joy. I look up to where his radiant face shines in the sunlight, and wonder if perhaps I did the right thing in bringing him here.“See? It’s all amazing, isn’t it?” I say, tryi

183

My heart is racing, and I can feel the pounding in my ears. The crowd that once seemed so vibrant is now a sea of strange faces, and each passing second feels like an eternity. I move faster, looking desperately at every corner, every face, as the pressure in my chest intensifies.“Miguel! Where are you?” I shout, my voice almost breaking.The celebrations fade into a distant noise, and the joy of the people seems to mock my despair. It's a horrible feeling, being so close to something everyone loves and at the same time feeling like I am about to lose the most precious thing I have. The only thing I want is to find it before it's too late.**BLAIR'S POV“Miss Collins, I just need to ask you a few more questions,” the officer says, but his voice echoes as if it’s coming from far away. It’s like a distorted dream, a nightmare I can’t wake up from.I lost my son.Reality slowly unfolds, and each word he utters becomes a crushing weight on my chest. Panic and pain intertwine, and the id

184

I sit in front of the window, watching the rain fall as if each drop carries a piece of my sorrow. The air is thick, almost difficult to breathe, and I feel a deep tightness in my chest when I think about Miguel… about where he is. , who he might be with now. The tea in my hands has already gone cold; it is nothing more than a ghost of warmth, like a memory of something that once warmed me.Drake went to his room, saying he needed to sleep. But I know the weight he carries now, the guilt that consumes him like a shadow that won't let him rest. Losing his own nephew... He martyrs himself in silence, but I know that despair and exhaustion will keep him awake, trapped in his own thoughts.I don't blame him, I never could.This is my fault, like a knife that I stab myself incessantly.What if I had said no, what if I had forbidden Miguel from watching those races?If I had never let him be enchanted by Ethan Banks tearing up the dance floor, with that sparkle in his eyes that promised som

185

In our silence, we beg for a miracle. For a second, no one moves. My heart beats so fast that I can feel the pulse in my temples, a rhythmic beat between despair and hope.I leave the cup forgotten on the side table and rush towards the door, my hurried footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. I hear Drake's footsteps right behind me; he also runs, caught up in the same silent prayer.I grab the handle with trembling hands, and as I open the door, I brace myself for anything but the sight I find before me.The first thing I see are those blue eyes… my son’s eyes. Deep, bright, so familiar I feel the ground melt beneath me.“Son…” My voice comes out in a choked cry, full of relief and disbelief.I can’t hold it back. I step forward and kneel in the hallway, throwing myself into his arms, the warmth of his body filling the emptiness that has consumed me for so long. “God, thank you. Thank you…” The words come out of me in a rush, and all I can do is hold him tight, smelling his skin

186

"At that moment, I almost fell over backwards. Because that boy, Blair," he points to the door behind me, his voice low and measured, "is the exact copy of Ethan Banks. Same look. Same eyes. Same fire. But I thought I was going crazy. Because Blair… Blair had been dead for years."With every word he says, the truth throbs in my chest, mixed with fear and anger.He takes another step, invading the space between us, and everything inside me wants to recoil, but I hold my ground. “I needed to know. I needed to prove to myself that it was just a coincidence,” he continues, his voice sounding closer and closer. “Just some random boy, with black hair and blue eyes. A mother named Blair. A boy with a burning passion for cars, like so many others.”He takes another step forward, and I feel my heart race.Carter is now so close that I can almost feel the heat of his breath.“I took the boy out to dinner,” he murmurs, his voice unnervingly calm. “We talked, we laughed. He called me Uncle Joseph

187

“I won’t hide this from Ethan,” he repeats, his voice low but firm. “Because from the day he heard the news of your death, I lost him. We all lost him. Ethan became a living dead, Blair. He never smiled again, never joked again, never ate again without being forced to. He said goodbye to the world with you.”His words pierce my chest, the image of Ethan closing himself off in a bitter, eternal loneliness dancing in my mind. And, despite myself, I feel a familiar ache, a guilt I've never been able to completely quell.“Imagine,” Carter continues, his voice barely above a whisper, “what Ethan would give to know that you’re alive. That he has a son.”The words hang between us, carrying an impossible weight. The thought of Ethan, broken and consumed by loss, is something I’ve avoided facing for all these years. I’ve kept my distance, believing that this distance was what’s best for everyone, that the life Miguel and I led was enough, safe. But now, faced with Carter’s words, every barrier

188

“He wouldn’t be able to do that,” he says, his voice low, as if trying to put an end to it.I choke on the anger, my breath coming in quick pants, my eyes fixed on his with a burning fury. “It was his car, Carter. His damn car!” My body trembles, gripped by a consuming dread. “That night, I knew. I knew that if I didn’t leave, he wouldn’t stop. And you come here, telling me what I lived through, what I saw with my own eyes?”The silence is piercing, so thick that I can hear the sound of my own heart hammering. Carter stares at me, his face now pale, as if he’s finally absorbing what he’s heard. He releases my hands slowly, but doesn’t look away, as if for the first time he’s beginning to comprehend the extent of the gulf between us.“His car?” Carter whispers, as if the words are so heavy he can barely get them out.I stare at him, feeling the pain that hasn’t healed yet, the terror of that night washing over me again. “He tried to run me over,” I say, the words coming out shallow but

189

ETHAN'S POV1 MONTH LATER“You may not know this, but you’re not Superman,” Carter says as he walks into my office, balancing a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. His tone is a mix of sarcasm and genuine concern. “You need to eat, drink, and, hey, sleep.”I look up from my computer screen, blinking against the morning light that floods the room. When he mentions sleeping, I realize with a start that it’s already daylight. The blinds are barely closed, and a golden beam of light cuts across the room, illuminating the clutter of papers and empty mugs around me.“Thank you,” I murmur, taking the cup he offers me. The caffeine feels like the promise of a miracle now. I lift the liquid to my lips, ready for the hot, bitter blast that will keep me going for a few more hours.But the first drop hits my tongue, and I stop. I frown. “What the fuck?” I drop the cup on the table with a thud.“Chamomile tea,” he replies, unfazed, as he slumps into one of the office chairs. He crosses his arms a

190

I reach the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror, the cold light reflecting an image I don’t fully recognize. I stare at myself. I’m thinner, but ironically, I’m also more defined. When the office wears me out to the limit, I lock myself away at the gym, trying to turn exhaustion into some kind of control.The circles under my eyes are deep, dark, like permanent shadows etched beneath my eyes. My skin looks paler than it should, a clear reflection of the nights I’ve spent. My hair is neat, a remnant of yesterday’s appointment, but it’s usually a mess… too long, disheveled, as unkempt as my life.It's been like this for three years. Three long, drawn-out years.I lift the bottle of whiskey and finish what’s left. The bitter taste scrapes my throat, but the heat that follows is the only thing that makes me feel anything, even if it’s discomfort.Maybe I'm trying to get cirrhosis, I think, almost laughing at the irony. I'd die in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines trying to prol

191

I almost drowned while taking a shower.I stand up with difficulty, my legs heavy, my body aching and stiff from the position I was in. The water runs off me, dripping onto the bathroom floor and forming small puddles that reflect the dim light. I run my hands over my face, trying to shake off the numbness that still weighs on me.My muscles are tense, like my body is protesting what I just did. Sleeping in the bathtub? What kind of idiot does that?I wrap myself in the towel hanging nearby, the fabric rough against my chilled skin. The exhaustion is still overwhelming, but now it’s mixed with the adrenaline of fright. I sit on the edge of the tub for a moment, letting my head fall into my hands. It’s almost over. And for a brief second, I can’t tell if that scares me or relieves me.I wrap myself in the cotton robe that’s hanging in the bathroom. The soft fabric covers my still-damp skin, but it doesn’t do much to ward off the chill I feel inside. I leave the bathroom and start walki

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