บททั้งหมดของ Dear Ex-husband, I Don't Love You Anymore : บทที่ 201 - บทที่ 210

The silence after the shooting does not feel like peace. It feels like the pause before something worse remembers to breathe.Smoke hangs low. Glass crunches under boots. Someone groans somewhere near the overturned table and then goes quiet.Diana is still on the floor, Mikhail’s hands braced on either side of her shoulders, his body a shield he has not yet remembered to lower. Her ears ring. Her heart feels too big for her chest.Then Katharina’s voice cuts through the wreckage.“Erm, you guys…” she says faintly. “Blade isn’t moving.”The world tilts.Diana is on her feet before anyone else reacts. Before Mikhail can stop her. Before her body remembers pain or fear or pregnancy or sense.She runs.Blade is slumped against the wall, seated awkwardly like someone who sat down to rest and forgot how to stand again. One knee bent. One arm curled tight against his abdomen. Blood streaks the side of his face, dark and shiny, sliding from lips, down his chin and dripping onto his collar.F

TWO WEEKS LATERMikhail sits in the driver’s seat with the engine off and the window cracked just enough to let the morning air in. Sunlight spills through the windshield and lands on his hands.He is holding the ultrasound pictures like they are something holy.His thumb traces the edge of the glossy paper again and again, careful, reverent. His smile is wide and unguarded, the kind Diana has learned only belongs to her now. The kind that reaches his eyes and stays there.He has changed.Not in small ways.In the ways that matter.For two weeks Diana has woken up every morning excited. Excited to open her eyes. Excited to breathe. Excited to exist in a world where Mikhail is beside her and the future does not feel like a threat.She leans across the console and kisses him for what feels like the hundredth time.He laughs softly against her lips, a sound she will never get used to.“Again,” she murmurs.He kisses her back without complaint.Then his head snaps up.The shift is instant

Mikhail drives slower than usual.Diana notices it the moment they pull away from the curb. His hands are steady on the wheel, posture straight, eyes fixed ahead, but there is a restraint to him that feels unnatural. Like a man holding himself back from breaking something.Or someone.She watches the city blur past the window, then glances at him. His jaw is tight. His mouth set in a line that means he is thinking too much.“You’re going to wear a hole through the road,” she says softly.He exhales through his nose but does not look at her.“I am not worried,” he says.She almost laughs.She reaches over and rests her hand on his thigh, grounding herself as much as him.“Don’t lie to me,” she murmurs. “This is already messy. You don’t have to pretend.”He finally looks at her then. Really looks at her. His gaze drops briefly, involuntarily, to her belly before returning to her eyes.“What if,” he says quietly, “the baby is his.”The words hang between them.Diana turns them over in he

THREE MONTHS LATERThe stadium is loud in the way that feels alive.Not violent. Not dangerous. Just loud with joy, with strangers shouting together for the same reason, with hands thrown up and voices cracking from singing and yelling and believing in something simple.Diana sits beside Mikhail with her jacket open, one hand resting low on her belly. The bump is unmistakable now. Not something she has to search for in the mirror. It exists. It announces itself.Mikhail has learned the rules of football slowly, painfully, asking questions at the worst possible moments, shouting at the wrong plays, cheering a second too late. Diana loves it. Loves the way he leans forward like the outcome personally offends him. Loves the way he looks at her afterward to check if his reaction was correct.When their team wins, the stadium explodes.Mikhail stands without realizing it, fist in the air, shouting something that makes absolutely no sense. Diana laughs so hard her eyes water.“You’re one of

Mikhail groans softly as the phone vibrates against the bedside table. He opens his eyes and he groans again when he realises that someone is calling him at night. It is still dark enough that the room feels suspended between night and morning, the kind of hour where reality has not fully decided to return. Diana is curled toward him, the blanket twisted around her naked body, her breathing slow and even. One arm is flung across his chest like an anchor, possessive even in sleep.He gently kisses her hand and rolls away from her. He reaches for the phone carefully, silencing it before it can ring again.“Hello,” he says quietly, already sitting up.He slips out of bed, tugging his boxer briefs on as he moves. The air feels colder without her warmth. He glances back once, just to make sure she has not stirred. She has not. Her hair is a mess on the pillow, lips parted slightly, peaceful.He closes the bedroom door behind him.“Hello,” the voice on the other end says.Mikhail freezes.