Harassed by My Ex, Loved by My Next

The electric scooter was parked beneath the familiar apartment building; my daughter on the back seat was quietly playing with her doll. I glanced at the address on my phone, my fingertips tightening for some inexplicable reason. "Mom, can we hurry up? We still need to buy strawberries afterward." My daughter tugged at my sleeve, her voice soft and gentle. "Almost there. Wait here for Mom, and don't wander off." I ruffled her hair, grabbed the food delivery bag, and headed toward the apartment entrance. When the elevator display reached the eighteenth floor, my heart suddenly quickened. Just as I raised my hand to press the doorbell, the door opened before I could. The man was wearing dark loungewear with the collar loosely open. When he saw me, his pupils noticeably contracted, and his voice held a hint of surprise along with a barely perceptible trace of unease: "Is that you?" I didn't respond. I lifted the takeout bag in my hand. "This is your order. Please confirm." Just as I finished speaking, a woman in an off-white bathrobe walked in from the living room. Her arm draped intimately over the man's shoulder, her voice coquettish yet appraising: "Philip, who is this?" The man pushed her hand away and took a half-step forward, as if trying to explain: "Tina, it's not what you think. She's just..." "Have the food charges already been paid?" I cut him off, my eyes on the order page on my phone. "If everything's fine, I need to leave now. There's another delivery waiting." I deliberately ignored the surprise in his eyes, my fingers swiping across the screen to confirm the delivery time. "You're this calm?" He frowned, his tone tinged with confusion. "How are you doing now?" "Quite well, thanks for asking." I put away my phone and turned to leave. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, glanced down the stairs, just in time to see my daughter leaning on the electric scooter, and his voice rose sharply: "Is that your child? You remarried?" I wrenched my hand free from his grasp, a sharp sting shooting through my fingertips. Gritting my teeth, I said, "This has nothing to do with you." After speaking, I quickly stepped into the elevator. Just as the doors were closing, I saw him standing there, his face darkening with resentment. Going downstairs, my daughter stood on tiptoe, looking up with a small face and asked, "Mom, who was that man just now?" I knelt down and pulled her into my arms. "He's someone we don't know. How about we go buy some strawberries?" My daughter nodded obediently, her little hands clutching tightly around my neck. I was riding my electric scooter, the wind brushing against my face, yet it couldn't blow away the sudden panic from just moments ago. It's been three years; I thought I had already let go. But seeing Philip Shaw again, my heart still aches uncontrollably.