BILLIONAIRE'S DEAD WIFE RETURNS のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

JakeI close the bedroom door gently behind me, but the sound still feels too loud in the silence between us. My pulse hammers in my ears, my jaw locked so tight I can barely breathe. She wanted to talk, Kyla finally wanted to talk and I walked out.Like a coward, I knew exactly what she wanted to say, but I am not ready for it to be real. But I couldn’t stay in there, not with the weight of her eyes on me, not with questions screaming inside my head so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.The kids’ laughter echoes down the hallway, bright and chaotic. Their footsteps pound against the floor as if this house has always been theirs. For a moment, I stand there, staring into the dark stretch of the corridor, and the truth slams into me like a freight train.They look like her. Both of them. The eyes, the smile, the spirit it’s all Kyla.But the boy, Elias.I swallow hard, my chest tightening until it feels like I can’t breathe. He looks like me. The same sharp nose I had as a kid, the s

KylaThe morning light creeps through the curtains, warm and golden, but I feel anything but rested. My body aches, the concussion still making my head throb faintly, and my legs are stiff from barely moving in days. But it’s not just the pain that drags me down it’s the silence.I’m alone.The kids are always the first thing I hear when I wake, Chanel humming to herself, Elias thumping his feet against the floor, one of them bickering about who gets the bathroom first. But this morning? Nothing. It's all quiet which is worrying when dealing with toddlers. My chest tightens. Panic flickers in the back of my mind as I push myself upright, every movement clumsy and slow. I grip the edge of the bed, steadying myself. Did something happen? Did they wander off?I shuffle to the doorway, heart pounding harder with every step. But as I move down the hallway, the silence breaks soft voices, laughter, the scrape of cutlery.I freeze at the laughter. It’s coming from the kitchen.For a moment,

KylaThe air in the kitchen feels too still after his phone call.Jake is standing by the counter, phone still in his hand, jaw tight, his shoulders hunched like he is carrying the weight of the world. The kids are outside chasing each other in the yard, their laughter floating in through the open window, but the sound doesn’t reach him.It doesn’t reach me either.Because I can feel it, the wall going back up.He turns slightly, and I see the look in his eyes. Distant. Closed off. The same look he wore when he walked out of my life years ago. The same look that gutted me then and is gutting me all over again now.“Jake,” I whisper, my fingers curling around the edge of the table for strength. “We need to talk.”For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His throat works, his grip on the phone tightening, like he’s debating whether to listen or shut me out. Hope stirs in me fragile, trembling. Maybe this time he’ll stay, maybe this time he’ll hear me.But then his gaze hardens, and with a shake

Jake I sit in the car for longer than I should, my fingers locked around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring me to this earth. The drive back feels mechanical, like my body’s on autopilot, but my head is everywhere else. Kyla’s face when I told her I needed to leave God, it’s still there, burned into me. Those eyes, full of questions, but she didn’t beg. That almost hurt more. She just accepted it, swallowed the ache, probably because she’s used to people walking away.Her kids. Chanel and Elias. The way they laughed at breakfast, the way Elias’s entire face lights up when he looks at her when he looks at me. I still can’t shake the resemblance. It’s like staring at a photograph of myself at seven. That tiny dimple in his left cheek when he smiles. The stubborn set of his jaw. My blood hums every time I think about it, like my body knows what my mind is trying not to admit.By the time I pull into the driveway of the house I share with Amina, I feel raw. Like my ins

JakeThe moment I turn the key in the front door, the sound that hits me nearly undoes me.“Daddy!”Ethan’s little voice carries through the hall, high pitched and desperate, and before I can even step inside fully, he barrels toward me, all arms and legs and tears. I barely manage to drop my bag before he crashes into me.I scoop him up instinctively, pressing his small body against mine. His arms wrap around my neck so tightly it almost hurts. I close my eyes, breathing him in the faint scent of baby shampoo, the warmth of him. My son.“Where were you?” he whimpers into my shoulder, his voice muffled. “I had a bad dream and you weren’t here. Mommy said you were busy, but I wanted you.”My throat burns, guilt clawing its way up my chest. I rub his back in slow circles, trying to soothe him. “I’m sorry, buddy. I should have been here.” The words feel hollow even as I say them. Because I wasn’t here. I was across town in another house, with another pair of children laughing at me like