chapter 1
EMPTY HOUSE, EMPTY HEART
Isabella's point of view
I glanced at the watch. It was seven thirty. David should have been back an hour earlier. Our candles on the dining table swayed from left to right and produced wavering moving shadows on the wall. I had been busy the whole afternoon preparing his favorite dish - beef stew and warm bread, like how his mother used to cook.
This was our third anniversary. It had been three years since I'd walked down the aisle in my white wedding dress and pretended to be the world's luckiest girl. I'd thought we'd always celebrate once a year with nice dinners and tender kisses. Instead, I sat alone at a table for two and stared at the steam rising up off the unfed food.
The house was so quiet and I could even hear myself breathe. The stairs contained no footsteps. No keys rattled at the front door. No soothing voice called out my name. Only the tick-tick-tick of the kitchen clock and the soothing bubbling sound of the stew cooling.
I reached for my telephone. Again. For the tenth time. There were no messages. There were no calls. My husband hadn't called or messaged me on our biggest day of the year. My fingers itched to call him but I held them back. Last week when I had called him in the middle of his business meeting, he had been angry. "Isabella, I'm busy," he had snarled in his chilly tone that always made me blush.
I brought the food to the kitchen at eight o'clock. The delicious-smelling beef stew now appeared to be a downcast and thick meal. The bread had turned hard on the sides. I covered each in airtight plastic and stored it in the fridge beside leftover food from the day before and old soup from a week ago.
Maybe it had been traffic. Maybe his meeting had run longer than expected. Maybe he'd mislaid the track of the day. I tried to come up with likely reasons David wouldn't be at our anniversary party. But in the recesses of my mind, I knew why. She had blonde hair and green eyes and two little boys who called David "Uncle Dave."
I went through our large house and switched off the light here and there. The living room is where we sat and movie nights were spent together. The kitchen is where I once cooked meals he never ate.
The bedroom is where he once slept on his side of the bed as far from mine as possible. Every room seemed vacant even when I was standing in the very center. Nine o'clock passed. Then ten.
I undressed out of my beautiful blue dress - the same one David had said looked beautiful on our first date - and replaced it with my nighttime clothes. My face in the bathroom mirror appeared tired and pale. When did I start to look so unhappy all the time? When did the twinkle leave my eyes?
I crept alone into our large bed. The sheets were cold and David's pillow still had the aftershave he used to wear to his job every day. I closed my eyes and attempted to recall our wedding. David's smile down the aisle. The shaky hands he had while he placed the ring on my finger. The way he whispered to me at our first dance at our wedding reception, "I love you.".
Were these experiences real? Or did I delude myself into believing in the affection in his eyes because I so desperately craved it?
The front door opened at eleven-fifteen. I heard David in slow and hesitant steps coming down the hallway as if he did not want to wake me. A part of me wished to run downstairs and throw my arms around him. A part of me wished to ask where he had been. But I remained in bed and feigned sleep, because I dreaded hearing what he would say.
I could hear the sound of him walking around in the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and closed. There was running water in the bathroom sink. Then I could hear the steps coming up through the stairs but did not terminate in our room. Instead, it went towards the guest room at the end of the hallway.
Tears fell from my face to the pillow. My husband had spent a night in another room on our anniversary. Our promise to each other to never cease being in love with one another had been broken three years back. Today we coexisted like family strangers.
I would wake up in the morning and spot the note on the kitchen counter. It'd be in David's neat handwriting on his business card. "Had to assist Sophia with the kids. School emergency. Sorry about dinner." That's all. Sorry about dinner. Sorry about spoiling our anniversary. Sorry about breaking my heart. Sorry about dinner.
But I did not know about the note yet. At this time, I just stretched out in the blackness and listened to the sound of my husband's snoring somewhere in the house. The house remained quiet but it sounded quieter this time. It seemed to be over. As if a piece of us had been irreparably severed tonight and could not be repaired.
I covered my face in the blankets and whimpered. Tomorrow morning, I'd be smiling and acting like everything was fine. I'd ask how David's day had been and cook up pancakes, his favorite. I'd be the perfect wife, as I had always been. But in the secrecy of our bedroom tonight, I allowed myself a minute to confront reality. My marriage was falling apart and I did not know how to mend it. The rain began to pour down outside.
