บททั้งหมดของ Dear Ex, See you never: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Millicent's POVI keep running into Mike. At first I think it's coincidence since we share a kitchen, a library, and other common spaces that neither of us can avoid. The mansion is large enough that we could go days without crossing paths if we tried, but by the second week I start to suspect neither of us is trying. He's seeking me out the way I'm seeking him, both of us curious about this strange creature who shares our cage.I find him in the library one afternoon, curled up in a window seat with a book of poetry. The light catches the dust motes floating around him, and for a moment he looks almost ethereal, younger, softer, nothing like the wary stranger who confronted me in his room that first night."What are you reading?"He looks up, startled but not displeased, and shows me the cover. Rumi."He had someone too," Mike says quietly, his thumb tracing the spine of the book. "Someone the world didn't understand, someone he loved in ways that couldn't be spoken aloud, shams of

Millicent's POVSeven texts since the first one. I've ignored every single one, watched them pile up in my notifications like trash accumulating on a curb. Each one more pathetic than the last."Can we please talk?""I know I messed up. Just give me a chance to explain.""Milli, please. I'm going through something.""You can't just ignore me forever.""I'm your husband."That last one made me laugh out loud. My husband. As if a piece of paper and two years of abuse gave him some eternal claim on me. As if the divorce was just a temporary inconvenience in his grand plan for my life.I've been doing a good job of pretending he doesn't exist. The mansion helps, it's a world away from the life Brian knows, protected by gates and staff and a billionaire who, whatever else he is, doesn't seem like the type to let unwanted visitors through.But I can't live in the mansion forever.I'm at the studio finishing up with a client, a mother and her teenage daughter getting portraits for college a

Millicent's POVThe house smells like vodka and regret.I knew it would before I even opened the door. My mother has two settings these days: barely functional and actively self-destructing. The fact that she didn't answer my calls for two days told me exactly which setting I'd find."Mom?" I step over a pile of laundry in the entryway, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. All the curtains are drawn. "Mom, it's me."I find her in the living room, sprawled on the couch in the same robe she was wearing last week when I visited. Empty bottles line the coffee table like soldiers in a defeated army. She looks up when I enter, her eyes glassy and unfocused."Milli." She smiles, sloppy and sad. "My baby girl. Married to a billionaire. Who would've thought?""I came to check on you. And to get some of Josh's old things from the attic.""Always so practical. Just like your father." She laughs bitterly. "Well, like the man you thought was your father."I freeze halfway across the room. "What?""

Millicent's POVJosh is fine when I put him to bed. I check on him three times, the way I always do. His breathing is steady, his color is good, and he clutches Mr. Hop to his chest while murmuring something in his sleep that might be "mama" or might be nothing at all.I kiss his forehead and go to my room.At 3:47 AM, I wake to a sound that will haunt me for the rest of my life.It's not a cry or a cough. It's a wet, rattling gasp, the sound of lungs that can't get enough air, of a tiny body fighting to breathe and losing.I'm out of bed before I'm fully conscious, running to the nursery with my heart in my throat.Josh is in his crib with his lips blue and his chest heaving with the effort of each breath. His eyes are open but unfocused, scared, like he doesn't understand what's happening to his body."Help!" The scream tears out of me, raw and animal. "Someone help me!"I scoop him up and feel how hot he is, feel the way his little ribs are working overtime just to pull in oxygen.

Millicent's POVThe envelope arrives on a Tuesday.Elena brings it to me in the library, where I've been pretending to read the same chapter for the past hour. Her expression is carefully neutral, but I catch the slight hesitation before she hands it over."From Mr. Hale's investigator," she says. "He asked me to deliver it personally."My hands are trembling before I even touch it. I've been waiting for this for weeks, the answer to the question my mother was too drunk to finish asking, the identity of the man in the photograph. Part of me hoped the investigator would find nothing, that the trail would go cold and I could return to my blissful ignorance.But the envelope is thick. Heavy with information."Thank you, Elena."She nods and withdraws, closing the library door behind her. I'm alone with my past, sealed in cream-colored paper and waiting to explode.I don't open it immediately. Instead I set it on the table in front of me and stare at it, as if looking long enough might re