Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 54

Elena: POV

I followed Marie's knowing look toward the back corner of the café, my curiosity piqued despite everything.

Through the maze of cat trees and scratching posts, I spotted him.

Ethan sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the wall, dangling a bright orange feather toy just out of Milo's reach. The cat crouched low, tail twitching, eyes locked on the feather with laser focus.

Ethan would let it drift closer—close enough to tease—then pull it away at the last second, drawing out a frustrated chirp from Milo.

Then, in a burst of movement, Milo pounced. He caught the feather between his paws, rolling onto his back in triumph while Ethan laughed—a warm, genuine sound that seemed to fill the whole café.

"Got it, buddy," Ethan murmured, letting Milo "win" the battle.

He scratched behind the cat's ears as Milo kicked at the feather with his back legs, utterly content.

Something in my chest tightened watching them. The gentleness. The patience. The way Ethan seemed perfectly happy to play with Milo.

His head suddenly whipped around. Those orange eyes found mine immediately.

"Ethan," I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "It's you."

He looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it melted into something warmer. "Elena." He scrambled to his feet, brushing cat hair off his dark jeans. "Hey. Long time no see."

"Yeah." I moved closer, suddenly hyperaware of how I must look—no makeup, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing Sophia's old Columbia hoodie and yoga pants.

But he didn't seem to notice—or care. His smile was the same as always. Easy. Kind.

Before either of us could say more, Milo trotted over and jumped straight into my lap the moment I sat down. He butted his head against my chin, purring like a motorboat, kneading my thighs with his paws.

"Well, shit," Ethan said, laughing as he settled back down across from me. "Guess I know where I rank."

I scratched behind Milo's ears, feeling the familiar vibration of his purr against my palm. "He's being generous today."

"Generous." Ethan's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Elena, this cat has literally ignored me for weeks. I'd come in here, try to pet him, and he'd just... walk away. Like I didn't exist."

"So what changed?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Ethan leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Persistence, I guess. And bribery." He grinned. "I started bringing him treats. Nothing fancy—just those little salmon crunchies Marie keeps behind the counter. At first, he wouldn't even come close. Would just stare at me from across the room like I was trying to poison him."

Milo stretched in my lap, exposing his soft white belly. I placed my hand there gently, feeling the warmth of his small body, the rapid beat of his heart.

"But I kept coming back," Ethan continued. "Every week, same time, same spot. I'd sit here with the treats and just... wait. Let him come to me on his terms."

"And he did?"

"Eventually." Ethan's expression softened. "Took about five weeks. One day, he just walked up, sniffed my hand, and let me scratch his head. After that, it got easier."

That made my throat tight.

"I think he's been hurt before," Ethan said quietly, watching Milo's contented face. "He's so high-strung, so defensive. Like he's scared that if he lets someone in, they'll just..." He paused, searching for words. "They'll just disappoint him. Abandon him. You know?"

*Oh, I know.*

"He's actually really sweet," I managed, my voice thick. "Once you get past all the walls."

Ethan's eyes met mine, and something in his expression shifted."Yeah. He is."

Silence stretched between us, comfortable but weighted.

"Ethan," I said suddenly. "I'm sorry. About last time. When Julian—when he hit you. I'm so sorry I dragged you into that mess."

His jaw tightened briefly. "Don't."

"But—"

"Elena, you have nothing to apologize for." His voice was firm. "That wasn't your fault. That was your asshole husband being a possessive piece of shit."

"He shouldn't have beaten you like that," I said quietly.

"No, he shouldn't have." Ethan's jaw tightened. "But what really gets me is the way he treats you—like you're his property."

"Ethan—"

"I know it's not my place," he continued, his dark eyes intense. "But Elena, he's not good for you. He never was. You deserve so much better than some guy who treats you like a secret he's ashamed of."

I looked down at Milo, at my hand still resting on his soft belly. "It's complicated."

"Is it? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty simple. He doesn't appreciate you. He doesn't respect you. And he sure as hell doesn't deserve you."

The words hung in the air between us.

"I'm leaving him," I said. The words came out steady. Sure. "After his grandfather's birthday party this weekend. We're getting divorced."

Ethan's expression shifted—surprise mixed with something that looked like relief. "Good. That's... that's really good, Elena."

"Yeah." I forced a smile. "It is."

He studied my face for a long moment. "Are you okay? I mean, really okay?"

*No. I'm pregnant with his baby. I'm broke. I'm homeless. I have no plan. And I'm terrified.*

"I will be," I said instead.

Ethan must have sensed I didn't want to elaborate because he shifted gears, his tone lightening. "So what's your plan? After the divorce?"

"I don't know yet." I scratched behind Milo's ears, needing something to do with my hands. "I resigned from Sterling Fashion several days ago. Just... couldn't stay there anymore."

"That's understandable." He paused. "What about your designs? You were so talented at Parsons. Are you going to keep working in fashion?"

"I want to." The admission came easier than I expected. "I just... I need to figure out where. New York feels..." I trailed off, searching for words.

"Suffocating?" Ethan supplied gently.

"Yeah."

He was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then something shifted in his face—like a lightbulb going off.

"Actually," he said slowly, "I might know someone who could help."

I looked up. "What do you mean?"

"A friend of mine—Isabella Rossi—she runs a design house in Milan. Small but prestigious. They do a lot of bespoke work for private clients, some editorial stuff. She's been complaining for months that she can't find good designers who understand both technical craftsmanship and creative vision."

Milan. Europe. Thousands of miles from Julian and Victoria and this whole goddamn mess.

"I could introduce you," Ethan continued, pulling out his phone. "If you're interested. She's always looking for talent, and your portfolio from Parsons was incredible. I'm sure she'd at least want to talk to you."

He scrolled through his phone, then turned it to show me a sleek website. **Rossi Atelier** in elegant script across the top. Photos of stunning gowns, impeccably tailored suits, intricate beadwork that made my fingers itch to create again.

"This is her studio," Ethan explained, swiping through images. "She focuses on sustainable luxury—ethically sourced materials, fair labor practices."

I stared at the screen, my heart starting to pound. This was real. This was an actual opportunity. A way out. A way forward.

"The work is intense," Ethan continued. "Long hours, high standards. But the pay is competitive, and Milan..."

He smiled. "Milan is beautiful. Great food, amazing culture, and far enough from New York that you could actually start fresh."