Chapter 81
Through the door, I could fatly heat Isabella’s voice from the speaker, her tone deliberately fragile.
don’t feel well, Henry,” she coughed weakly. “The doctors say my condition is worsening. I just… I need you here.”
I closed my eyes, picturing her perfectly arranged on hospital sheets, meticulously playing the role of a delicate invalid. That cough sounded so rehearsed, it was almost comical.
“What happened?” Henry asked, his voice filled with concern. “You seemed fine this afternoon when I spoke to you.
“I was trying to be brave,” Isabella replied, her voice breaking perfectly on cue. “But it’s gotten worse. The nurse says my fever’s risen, and 1…” Another precisely timed cough. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I’m scared, Henry.”
I almost admired her performance. This helpless damsel routine always worked perfectly on Henry.
“I promised I’d come by earlier,” Henry admitted, guilt evident in his voice. “I… got delayed.”
So that was it. He had agreed to see her hours ago but chose to celebrate my birthday instead. No wonder Isabella called- she was checking up on him, making sure he wasn’t spending too much time with his wife.
“I understand,” Isabella whispered, sounding anything but understanding. “You have other responsibilities. I’m just being silly and selfish.”
“No, no,” Henry quickly reassured her. “I’ll be there soon. Just try to rest until I arrive.”
“I can’t sleep when you’re not here,” Isabella confessed, her voice small and frightened. “I’m afraid to close my eyes. What if I don’t wake up?”
I could almost see Henry’s expression softening at her words. In all our years of marriage, I’d never used such “playing weak” tactics to manipulate a man.
Perhaps that was my mistake.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Henry promised.
When he emerged from the bathroom, he was already half–dressed, pulling on a fresh shirt as if our intimate moment had never happened.
“I have to go out,” he stated flatly, not quite meeting my eyes. “Isabella isn’t feeling well.”
I didn’t respond, didn’t move. He paused at the bedroom door, finally looking at me.
“I have some business to attend to,” he amended, as if this lie somehow made things better. ‘Don’t wait up.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and only then did allow myself to move. I rose from the bed, my body illuminated by the cold moonlight streaming through the window. My skin still bore the marks of Henry’s passion—proof that our earlier frenzy had been real, however briefly.
I mechanically walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water wash away the afterglow of our lovemaking. As I cleaned myself, I felt something inside me harden and grow cold.
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Chapter 81
After drying off, I walked to the kitchen, seeing the leftover birthday cake still sitting on the counter. I casually tossed it into the garbage, watching the perfect strawberry decoration disappear beneath the lid.
Standing there in the moonl kitchen, I finally accepted what I’d been fighting for so long: Henry would never change. Isabella would always come first.
There would always be another emergency, another call, another reason for him to leave our bed for hers.
Some people were never worth waiting for, and it was time for me to learn to let go.
On a leisurely weekend, Billy and Betty were playing chess.
“That’s cheating!” Billy protested, his small face scrunched in indignation as he watched Betty attempt to move her knight back to its original position.
“It’s not cheating, it’s a do–over,” Betty insisted, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “There’s a difference.”
I smiled at their playful argument, absently turning the page of my book. Sunlight streamed through the apartment windows, casting a warm glow over everything.
“Mom!” Billy called, turning to me with an exasperated expression. “Betty’s cheating at chess again! Tell her the rules!”
I put down my book and walked over to the table where they had set up their chess game. “What seems to be the problem,
chess masters?,
“She moved her knight here,” Billy accusingly pointed, “and then when she saw my trap, she tried to put it back!”
“I was just showing him a different strategy,” Betty defended herself, unable to maintain a serious expression as a smile blossomed across her face.
I pretended to seriously consider this grave dispute, thoughtfully tapping my chin. “Well, according to official tournament rules, once you touch a piece, you must move it.”
“See!” Billy exclaimed triumphantly.
“But,” I continued with a wink at Betty, “in friendly games between favorite aunts and nephews, sometimes a little flexibility is allowed.”
“Mom!” Billy groaned. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“Tell you what,” I diplomatically suggested, “Betty will make her proper move, and in exchange, you’ll let her make you. special post–chess snack?”
Both parties carefully considered this compromise.
“Can it be chocolate chip cookies?” Billy shrewdly negotiated.
“Deal,” Betty agreed, moving her knight to a legal position. “But I’m going to win anyway, cookies or not.”
“We’ll see about that,” Billy replied, already plotting his next move.
I left them to their game and headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Cooking had a deeply therapeutic effect;
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handling ingredients always calmed my mind.
As I worked, I could hear Belty and Billy’s continued banter, their laughter filling the apartment with a warmth that had been missing from my life for a long time.
Your mom seems happier today,” I overheard Betty say in a softer voice, clearly thinking I couldn’t hear.
“Do you really think so?” Billy asked, his voice carrying that mature concern that sometimes made my heart ache. “She is smiling more, but I’m not sure if she’s really happy.”
“Trust me,” Betty assured him. “When your mom is happy, she cooks and cleans like a tornado. She’s already reorganized my kitchen cabinets twice, this week.”
“What if Dad comes looking for us again?” Billy asked, his voice dropping even lower.
“Then we’ll send him packing,” Betty confidently declared.
“Good,” Billy agreed. “And if that doesn’t work, Great–Grandpa will take care of him.”
Their conversation shifted back to chess strategy, but Billy’s words lingered in my mind. My son might display carefree smiles in my presence, but he noticed more than I gave him credit for.
In quiet moments, when he thought no one was watching, his small face would tighten with anxiety–a five–year–old trying to make sense of his fractured family.
He didn’t understand why we had left Henry’s mansion the morning after my birthday, only that something had changed overnight.
For his sake, I had maintained a cheerful exterior, but children have a way of seeing through adult pretenses.
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