His Last Cup of Warm Milk Came With Divorce Papers Chapter 12

His Last Cup of Warm Milk Came With Divorce Papers Chapter 12

Sebastian slept like he had not rested in days.

He slept straight through until dinner.

After we ate, Leo dragged us both out for a walk around the neighborhood.

A little girl asked him, “Leo, did you bring your toy car out?”

He puffed out his chest.

“Yep. And don’t you think my mom is really pretty?”

The girl blinked, confused.

A boy ran over and called out, “Leo, want to go down the slide with us?”

Leo nodded seriously.

“My mom loves me, you know.”

The boy just stared.

I had not slept well the night before, and I had spent the afternoon hunched over my computer hunting for restoration materials.

I was starting to fade.

Sebastian noticed.

He asked the nanny to take Leo to get ready for bed.

My hand was already on the doorknob.

But I turned and walked right into Sebastian’s room.

He was still standing by the door, his eyes widening as I passed.

Without a word, I went to his desk, picked up that utility knife, and held it up.

“What is this?”

He closed the door and came over, gaze lowered.

“Nothing.”

Something in my chest ached, sharp and unexplainable.

¡ bit down hard.

“Still not telling me the truth?”

The floating comments had been flooding in that night.

That was how I learned that all these years, Sebastian had been hurting himself.

Every time I was cold, dismissive, or disgusted, he turned the blade on himself.

[It is not atonement. It is self-punishment. He thinks your hatred is all his fault, so he makes himself pay.]

[Physical pain drowns out the sting of your cold silence.]

[That is what obsessive love does. Does it have to be wrong?]

[Enough. I have had enough. Can these two just catch a break for once?]

“It’s nothing.”

“You have had Leo hanging on you all day. Go get some sleep.”

He turned away, masking every trace of emotion.

Frustration flared up in me.

I stepped forward, grabbed his left arm, and pulled up his sleeve.

The scars, deep and shallow, layered over each other, stared back at me.

I stopped breathing.

He yanked his sleeve down in panic, his eyes pleading.

“Don’t look. Please don’t look. Please.”

Don’t be disgusted, his eyes seemed to beg.

My eyes burned.

“Does it hurt?”

His lips parted, then closed.

Finally, he forced out two words.

“No. It doesn’t.”

Liar.

How could it not?

I dropped my gaze, and tears hit the floor.

One, then another.

And I realized, with a jolt, that I was hurting for him.

For Sebastian.

His fingers twitched, like he wanted to wipe my tears but was too afraid to reach out.

I took a breath and pulled him into a hug.

I felt him go completely rigid.

Then he pressed me back against the bookcase.

His burning forehead touched mine, his ragged breath brushing over my ear.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasped.

“Don’t talk to me like that.’

“Liliana, you have to know that I cannot control myself around you.”

“Then don’t hold back.”

His dark eyes swallowed me whole.

I looped my arms around his neck, rose on my toes, and kissed him.

A split second of hesitation.

Then he took charge.

His arm locked around my waist, crushing me to him.

The kiss was heavy and deep.

My legs went weak.

He lifted me.

I wrapped my legs around him, clinging.

And then, from outside, a small voice asked, “Mommy, Daddy, what are you guys doing?”