Episode3
1049 Words
"You really forgot?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Damian stood across from me in the kitchen, one hand resting against the marble counter. The soft glow from the overhead lights caught the sharp angles of his face, but his expression remained unreadable.
"I said I was sorry."
I let out a quiet laugh that didn't sound like mine.
"Do you know what's funny?"
His brows pulled together slightly.
"I wasn't even surprised."
For the first time that night, silence seemed to catch him off guard.
Behind him, Celeste shifted awkwardly near the staircase.
"I should go back upstairs," she said softly.
Neither of us answered.
A moment later, her footsteps disappeared into the hallway.
The kitchen suddenly felt smaller.
Damian loosened his tie and rubbed the back of his neck. It was a habit of his whenever he was irritated or uncomfortable. After four years, I had memorized things like that.
Unfortunately, memorizing someone doesn't mean they memorized you back.
"You knew I had meetings all day," he said.
"I know."
"You know how this business works."
"I know."
His jaw tightened.
"Then what exactly are you angry about?"
I stared at him.
Not because I didn't have an answer.
Because I had too many.
The missed dinners.
The unread messages.
The empty side of the bed.
The birthdays are spent alone.
The conversations lasted less than five minutes.
The way I knew the names of his board members, he didn't know my favorite color.
"I'm angry because I had to remind my husband that he has a wife."
The words landed between us.
Heavy.
Unmovable.
Damian looked away first.
"You're being unfair."
That one hurt more than it should have.
"Unfair?"
"Yes."
I folded my arms across my chest.
"Tell me which part is unfair, Damian. The part where I cooked dinner for three hours? The part where I sat alone at a table meant for two? Or the part where you walked through that door with another woman on our anniversary?"
His eyes snapped back to mine.
"Celeste means nothing."
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
As if he had prepared it.
"Then why was she with you tonight?"
"Her car broke down."
"And the only person she could call in the entire city was my husband?"
His expression hardened.
"You're making this into something it isn't."
"Am I?"
The kitchen fell silent again.
Rain tapped steadily against the windows.
Somewhere upstairs, the grandfather clock chimed once.
One in the morning.
Our anniversary was officially over.
Damian glanced toward the window before speaking again.
"I have an early meeting tomorrow."
Of course, he did.
There was always a meeting.
Always a call.
Always another company waiting for his attention.
Everything came before us.
I wondered if he even realized that anymore.
He started toward the hallway.
"That's it?" I asked quietly.
He stopped.
I swallowed hard.
"Four years, Damian."
He turned slightly.
"I waited for you tonight because I thought maybe this year would be different."
His shoulders stiffened.
"I thought maybe you'd remember without being reminded."
He didn't say anything.
Didn't apologize again.
Didn't deny it.
He simply stood there.
A stranger wearing my husband's face.
Eventually he walked away.
The sound of his footsteps faded upstairs.
A few seconds later, I heard the bedroom door close.
Not ours.
The guest room.
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
At least there was that.
The victory felt embarrassingly small.
******
By morning, the mansion looked exactly the same.
The flowers were still sitting on the dining table.
The wine glasses remained untouched.
The roses had started to wilt.
I threw them away before breakfast.
Maria watched silently from the doorway.
"You didn't have to do that yourself."
"I wanted to."
She hesitated.
"Mr. Crowe left early."
Of course, he did.
"When?"
"Six-thirty."
I looked at the clock.
Seven fifteen.
I had missed him by less than an hour.
Not that it mattered.
He hadn't come to say goodbye.
I poured coffee into a mug and sat near the kitchen window.
The chair across from me stayed empty.
It usually did.
A black SUV rolled through the front gates outside.
My heart jumped before I could stop it.
Damian?
No.
A delivery van.
I looked away quickly.
Maria pretended not to notice.
******
The day passed slowly.
Too slowly.
I organized books that didn't need organizing.
Rearranged flowers that didn't need rearranging.
Watered plants that the gardener had already watered.
By noon, I found myself standing in front of Damian's office in the house.
I hadn't planned to come here.
My feet had simply carried me.
The room smelled faintly of cedar and coffee.
His desk sat perfectly organized.
His laptop.
His files.
His awards.
Evidence that he existed more in this room than anywhere else in the house.
My eyes landed on the calendar sitting beside his computer.
A handwritten note covering tomorrow's date.
Meeting with Sterling Group. 9 AM.
The next day had notes too.
And the day after that.
Every hour accounted for.
Every minute planned.
Then my eyes drifted upward.
Yesterday's date sat empty.
Completely blank.
No anniversary.
No reminder.
No dinner reservation.
Nothing.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then I laughed softly.
Because somehow seeing the empty square hurt more than forgetting itself.
For Damian, our anniversary hadn't slipped his mind.
It had never entered it.
A knock sounded behind me.
I turned.
Maria stood in the doorway holding a small box.
"This arrived for Mr. Crowe this morning."
I frowned.
"Why bring it here?"
"The courier said it was urgent."
She handed it over.
The sender's name was written neatly in the corner.
My fingers froze.
Celeste Hart.
I don't know why my heart started beating faster.
Maybe because of the timing.
Maybe because of the shirt.
Maybe because of the look on Damian's face last night when he saw her standing in our kitchen.
I shouldn't
have looked.
I knew that.
But the lid had already loosened slightly during delivery.
One glance.
That was all it took.
Inside the box sat a silver lighter.
Beneath it was a folded note written in elegant handwriting.
I unfolded it slowly.
Then I stopped breathing.
Because written across the page were seven simple words.
- Writer
