You're Just My Ex-Husband,My Lord-Chapter 59- silly daddy

Marylin and Zoey’s words hit home for Laurent.

It was true—if it were real love, how could one settle for less? It was a mindset of swearing to wait forever if they couldn’t have what they truly wanted, never resigning to settling for someone else.

Just like her obsession with Dave back then, just like how she never chose Leonardo no matter what.

Vivian didn’t expect a single remark of hers to spark such a group attack, and she was fuming: 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Seriously! Since when did all of you become relationship experts?"

She then turned to Marylin to complain:

"Marylin, oh gorgeous Marylin, could you at least maintain your stunning image?"

Marylin burst into laughter:

"Our sweet, innocent Laurent is swearing now. What’s wrong if I say something worse?"

Laurent had told them everything about her interactions with Dave after she brought up divorce. Now they all teased her for swearing at Dave.

Feeling embarrassed, Laurent said:

"Seriously, don’t you all have jobs? Why do you have so much free time to chat?"

Marylin replied:

"I’m dizzy from translating a document, so I came here to chat and give my brain a break."

Zoey, however, simply said:

"Heading back to work."

Vivian was the most direct:

"We were just worried about you, afraid you’d feel upset or down, that’s all."

After living under the same roof for four years, Laurent knew everyone’s personality all too well.

Vivian was the most straightforward, never hiding what was on her mind.

Zoey, on the other hand, was more reserved and cool. She rarely said much, preferring to express herself through actions.

For example, just now—Zoey had probably taken a moment out of her busy schedule to chat for a bit, showing her concern for Laurent in her own way.

Marylin was also the type to act more than she spoke, so Laurent understood that their recent activity in the group chat was all because they were worried about her.

But truly, she was fine.

She didn’t feel the need to explain further about how well she was doing. She believed that in time, they would see for themselves that she had really moved on.

In the group chat, she sent her new phone number:

"Here’s my new number. The old one is no longer in use, so just delete it. I should head home now. You all go back to whatever you were doing."

Vivian, still worried, asked:

"Laurent, you didn’t give this new number to Dave, did you?"

Marylin gave Vivian a look of utter disdain for her intelligence:

"Pregnancy really does lower IQ for three years. If Laurent wasn’t trying to avoid Dave, why would she change her number in the first place?"

Vivian was speechless at her own question. To make up for it, she cheerfully responded to Laurent:

"Well done!"

Laurent smiled, put away her phone, and headed to the station to catch a ride home.

As soon as Laurent got home, she received a video call request from Lilian. She answered it, and her daughter, Emma Washington, appeared on the screen, her chubby little face glowing with excitement as she proudly showed off:

"Mommy, do you think my hairstyle is pretty? Auntie braided it for me."

"It’s beautiful," Laurent said.

Her gaze lingered on her daughter’s adorable face, studying her delicate features, her eyebrows, and her nose, trying to soothe the longing in her heart. She then asked Emma,

"Did you thank Auntie?"

The little girl nodded vigorously.

"I did! I even gave Auntie a big, sweet kiss!"

Lilian, who was nearby, chimed in:

"Don’t worry, Laurent. This time my brother won’t snatch my phone again. Emma and I are in my room, and I locked the door."

Clearly anxious about Laurent’s earlier threat to block her, Lilian wasted no time explaining.

Laurent didn’t know what to say. Maybe Lilian was just used to calling her that—once again, she had called her "Laurent" out of habit. But Laurent didn’t bother correcting her. After all, Lilian had been using that name for five years.

Once Lilian finished explaining, she handed the phone to Emma Washington, letting the mother and daughter chat.

The little girl was just as talkative as ever, chattering to Laurent about everything that had happened at kindergarten that day. Previously, she would share these stories on the ride home with Laurent; now, it was during their video calls.

As Laurent watched her daughter through the screen, tears nearly fell from her eyes, but she forced herself to hold them back.

She told herself to stay strong. If she went back just for her daughter, everything she had done so far would have been for nothing.

The only thing she could do now was hope that time would pass faster, much faster—so that the weekend would arrive, and she could see her daughter again.

After dinner, Tiffany packed up some of her granddaughter’s clothes and belongings from her stay there. Then Dave took the little girl home.

When Emma heard that she would be living with him from now on and that he would be taking care of her, she was quite excited. During the car ride home, she eagerly asked him,

"Daddy, can you tell me a bedtime story tonight?"

Dave thought this would be the easiest thing in the world.

"Of course."

"Daddy, I love you," the little girl said sweetly, her voice full of affection.

Dave glanced at her through the rearview mirror and asked, "Do you miss her?"

Still upset with Laurent, he couldn’t bring himself to say her name, dismissively referring to her as "her."

But the little girl, full of innocence, tilted her head and asked, "Who?"

He let out a cold snort. "Your mom."

The little girl shook her head earnestly. "Nope! I just had a video call with her, so I don’t miss her anymore."

Dave: "..."

He didn’t need to ask to know—it must have been on Lilian’s phone. No wonder the two of them had been holed up in the room for so long earlier.

Dave was already feeling suffocated, but the little girl unknowingly added fuel to the fire.

"Auntie said we had to sneak a video call with Mommy while you weren’t around, or else Mommy would get mad."

The little girl didn’t fully understand the meaning behind Lilian’s words, but her innocent recounting was enough to make Dave’s stomach churn in frustration.

Later that evening, before bed, Dave had to give his daughter a bath. It was his first time doing this—he hadn’t needed to the last time Laurent was out all night, because by the time he brought the little girl home, she’d already been asleep.

Dave thought to himself, *How hard can it be to give a kid a bath?*

But when it came time to wash her hair, his clumsy hands accidentally got shampoo in her eyes, leaving the little girl wailing in pain.

Panicked, Dave quickly scooped up clean water and repeatedly rinsed her eyes until, at last, she could open them again.

It was only then he realized: giving a child a bath was anything but simple.

The little girl, her eyes red like a little rabbit’s, angrily splashed the water in the bathtub, protesting loudly at him:

"Mommy has never gotten shampoo in my eyes!"

"It hurts too much!"

"I never want you to give me a bath again!"

"You’re a silly daddy!"

Because of his mistake, she pouted and refused to talk to him for the rest of the bath.

By the time he finally managed to finish her bath, Dave’s clothes were completely soaked, and he was drenched in sweat.

He wrapped her in a towel, dried her off, and was about to put on her pajamas, but she ran off again.

Wearing nothing but her underwear, she rolled around on the bed, refusing to put on her clothes.

She was as mischievous and stubborn as her mother.

Dave couldn’t help but think of Laurent:

What kind of person would raise such a child?

He spent a long time trying to catch her, but she refused to cooperate. Finally, he lost his patience, his face darkening as he sternly shouted:

"Emma Washington!"

"Come here and put on your pajamas!"

His angry demeanor, with his somber face and cold expression, frightened the little girl. She obediently ran over to him, letting him put on her clothes.

Afterward, they still had to go through the bedtime ritual of a story. Dave quickly took a shower himself, then returned to the bed. The little girl had already prepared the book she wanted him to read.

He glanced at it—it was Hans Christian Andersen’s *The Little Mermaid*.

He had no idea what the story was about, but he leaned against the headboard, opened the book, and began reading word for word.

He had barely read a few lines when the little girl interrupted with a complaint:

"Daddy, your story is so boring!"

After a long, exhausting evening, Dave felt like his head was about to explode, but he forced himself to ask her:

"How can I make it interesting?"

"Mommy always tells the story like this," she replied.

The little girl demonstrated for him, her voice soft and gentle:

"In the far reaches of the sea, the water was so blue, like the most beautiful cornflower petals, and so clear, like the brightest glass..."

She mimicked the tender tone and gestures Laurent had used when telling her stories, then snuggled back into bed beside Dave, eagerly waiting for him to continue.

Dave was on the verge of a breakdown. To ask a grown man to speak in such a soft voice—he’d rather die. And it wasn’t just about being gentle; it had to be slow, emotional, and filled with inflection.

For someone who was used to issuing orders, this was pure torture.

But there was no way to resist.