Dear Ex-wife Marry Me by Twin Bridge

Chatper 1468

“Alright, Maja, I’ve got this,” Quentin reassured her with a smile. Quentin perched on the couch, the

very picture of innocence. Maja had retreated upstairs, her fingers deftly navigating Ian’s smartphone,

searching for something out of place. But being a new device, it was almost barren of any personal

touches. Eventually, she tapped into the notes app. A few entries scrolled into view, clearly Ian’s

handiwork. [Can’t find her Middle Island. Was she in Inner Island?] [Maybe in Outer Island? Where on

earth is she?] [Wish I hadn’t let her come with me. This is so irritating.] She knew instantly he was

talking about her. A smirk played on Maja’s lips. Ian didn’t have her number, so his notes were his only

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solace. Breathing a sigh of relief, she scrolled further down, only to halt at the very last entry. [How

could she be dead? Maja wouldn’t die, let alone disappear.] Maja stood abruptly, a frown creasing her

forehead. Someone told Ian she was in trouble? And then there was that call, telling her Ian had made

some other choice, something that might keep him away from her. If the news of her trouble was a

false lead, what about that phone call? Clutching the phone, her head started to ache with the weight of

the unanswered questions. Quentin’s voice floated up from downstairs. “Maja, it’s raining cats and dogs

out here, and that Patric kid is playing in the mud, paying no heed to the rain or me.” Maja hustled

downstairs to Patric’s side. True to form, Patric was squatting, prodding an anthill with his fingers.

“Patric, come inside, you need to get out of the rain,” she called out to him. His hands were caked in

mud, kneading the earth as if it were dough, shaping it into various forms. “Maja, eat.” He offered her a

clump of mud, his eyes shining

with innocence. Maja’s heart swelled with a pang of helplessness. She couldn’t scold him. Patric was

not in his right mind. Brushing the mud away, she urged, “Let’s go inside first.” “Okay, sure.” They

started back toward the house when Patric halted, touching his head. “Maja, I’m remembering things.”

“What things?” “People at the fighting ring were mean. I hurt lots of people, and animals too.” Maja

stopped in her tracks, her brows knitting together. “Have you confused yourself with Ian?” His mind was

a mess, but why latch onto Ian’s identity? “What? I don’t understand what you’re saying. I want to go

home.” Patric became agitated, clutching his head. “I want to go home.” Maja closed the front door,

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preventing another muddy escapade. “Quentin, take him to rest, and give him something for the cold,”

she instructed. Quentin, standing nearby, nodded in agreement. As Maja watched Patric’s retreating

figure until he vanished with Quentin, she found a spot to sit and collect her thoughts. Patric was still

Patric, but his choice to assume Ian’s persona—was it due to some peculiar treatment at the Mental

Hospital? She checked her own phone again. No call from Ian. If he was still on Middle Island, he

should have seen her message by now. So many people knew him there, yet no one had a clue about

his whereabouts. And that ambiguous phone call—it left her feeling like a target of some unseen gaze.

The information between her and Ian didn’t match up. If there were people deliberately spreading false

news around both of them, they were bound to keep missing each other.