Three Years' Farewell

Chapter 2: The Forgotten Wife

By the time Olivia got home, the candles on the table had burned down to stubs.

Wax had dripped onto the white tablecloth and hardened there. The roasted chicken was cold. The wine in the open bottle had lost its shine.

She dropped her bag on a chair and stood in the doorway of the dining room, staring at the scene she had prepared hours ago.

Happy third anniversary.

She had written those words on a small card and tucked it under Anderson's plate. Now the card looked foolish.

Her phone lay cold in her hand. She checked it again. No new messages.

She thought of the image outside his company: Anderson leaning into the car, fastening Ava's seatbelt with a soft smile.

Her stomach twisted.

Maybe it was work, she told herself. Maybe Ava's family was talking business with him. Maybe…

Her thoughts tangled and broke. She pressed her fingers to her temples and took a breath.

Dad is in surgery. Focus on that.

She sat on the sofa and called the hospital. The nurse said the operation was still in progress. No news yet.

“Please… please save him," Olivia whispered after hanging up.

The apartment was silent. The clock in the living room ticked loudly. Outside, the city hummed with cars and lights.

At nine o'clock, she checked the time and finally called Anderson.

The line rang several times before he picked up.

“What is it?" His voice was low and impatient. There was noise in the background—music, the clinking of glasses, people talking.

“Where are you?" Olivia asked. “When are you coming home?"

“I'm in a meeting," he said at once. “Didn't I say I might be late tonight? Don't call me if it's not important."

Meeting?

Over the line, a bright laugh burst out—a woman's laugh. It was light and sweet.

Olivia's hand tightened around the phone.

“Anderson, is that…" she began.

“Who is it?" a woman's voice asked in the background, playful and curious. Olivia recognized it at once.

Ava.

“No one important," Anderson replied. His voice was closer, as if he had turned away from the phone. “Just a wrong number. Let's continue."

“Wrong number?" Olivia repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed. “Olivia, I really am in a meeting. Stop overthinking. I'll come back when I'm done."

“But—"

The line went dead. He had hung up.

Olivia lowered the phone slowly. The ticking clock sounded even louder now.

No one important.

She stared at the dark TV screen and saw her reflection in it—pale face, tired eyes, the faint smudge of makeup at the edge.

More than once, she had heard whispers behind her back.

“If Anderson had a choice, he would have married Ava."

“They were in love for years before his father broke them up."

“She's just a stand-in."

Olivia had laughed them off in front of people. “We're fine," she would say with a smile. “We're happy."

But late at night, when Anderson worked overtime or did not answer his phone, the same doubt always came back.

If Ava had come from a wealthy family… would he ever have married me?

Back in university, she had watched the two of them from a distance countless times. On warm afternoons they lay side by side on the campus lawn, sharing earphones, Ava laughing so loudly that people turned to look while Anderson reached over to quiet her with a helpless smile. In the library, where Olivia always chose the corner by the windows, she would see them at a nearby table, Ava sprawled over her notes while Anderson patiently explained a problem set, his head bent close to hers.

She had liked him even then—liked the way he frowned when he concentrated, the quiet steadiness under the easy charm. But Anderson already had a girlfriend, and Olivia had never been the kind of person who could step between two people who were in love. So she kept her distance, hugging her books to her chest as she walked past them, pretending not to hear their laughter.

Years later, after graduation, rumors spread that Anderson and Ava had broken up under pressure from his family. When her parents told her that the Grays wanted a marriage alliance and that Anderson was willing, she had agreed almost before they finished speaking. She told herself it was a sensible match, that any feelings she still had for him were carefully buried.

Only on nights like this did she wonder if she had really become his wife—or simply taken the place Ava had been forced to give up.

She shook her head, got up, and paced the living room. She called the hospital again. Her father was still in surgery.

Minutes stretched into hours.

At eleven o'clock, she tried Anderson again. This time he did not answer at all.

At one in the morning, she sent him a text.

Dad is still in surgery. Please call me back.

There was no reply.

She curled up on the sofa, hugging a cushion to her chest. Her eyes burned, but she could not sleep. Every time she closed them, she saw her father on the operating table, and Anderson fastening Ava's seatbelt.

Sometime around three in the morning, she dozed off.

A loud noise woke her.

The front door opened with a heavy click, followed by the dull thump of shoes on the floor. A faint smell of alcohol drifted in.

Olivia pushed herself up, her neck stiff. The room was dim; only the lamp in the corner was on.

“Anderson?" she called softly.

He stopped in the hallway, eyes adjusting to the light. He loosened his tie with one hand, his expression dark when he saw her on the sofa.

“You're still up?" he asked.

“I was waiting for you," Olivia said.

He frowned. “It's almost dawn. Why aren't you sleeping? Do you have to make a drama every time I work late?"

She stood, holding the back of the sofa to steady herself. “You weren't at the office," she said quietly. “I went there earlier."

“You followed me?" His eyes flashed. “Olivia, are you serious? Do you really have so much free time?"

“I didn't follow you," she said. “I went to look for you. At the hospital—"

“I told you I was in a meeting," he cut in. “Why can't you trust me for once? You call and call, like I'm some criminal you have to monitor."

Her throat tightened. “I called because something happened," she said. “Not because I wanted to monitor you."

He tossed his suit jacket onto the armchair. “Every time I'm busy, you're like this. Suspicious. Emotional. It's exhausting."

Olivia stared at him. For a moment, she almost forgot what she had wanted to say. Then she swallowed and forced her voice to stay calm.

“Do you know what day it was yesterday?" she asked.

Anderson froze.

He glanced at the cold dinner on the table, the burned-down candles, the wine bottle. His gaze landed on the small card by the plate. He picked it up and read the neat handwriting.

Happy third anniversary.

A muscle in his jaw moved.

“Our anniversary," Olivia said. “I was setting up dinner when Mom called."

Anderson lowered the card and rubbed his forehead. “I… forgot," he admitted. “Things have been crazy at work. I didn't mean to—"

“It's fine," she said quickly. The word tasted bitter. “This isn't about the dinner."

He looked at her then, really looked. Her hair was messy. There were faint shadows under her eyes.

“What happened?" he asked, his tone softening a little.

Olivia took a breath. The words seemed to scrape her throat on the way out.

“Dad collapsed at the company," she said. “He had a heart attack. He's in City Central Hospital. Still in surgery."

Anderson blinked. “What?"

“It happened this afternoon," she went on. “The company's debts… they've gotten out of control. A creditor went to his office and threatened him. The stress was too much. He clutched his chest and fell."

Anderson's brows drew together. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

“I tried," she said. “I called. You said you were in a meeting."

He shifted, as if the words made him uncomfortable. “How bad is it?"

“The doctor said his heart is very weak," Olivia replied. “They're not sure if he'll make it through the night."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Anderson sat down on the arm of the chair, his expression complex. “I didn't know it was that serious," he said.

Olivia nodded. “I know you didn't."

She took a step closer. “Mom used our savings and Dad's insurance to cover the hospital deposit," she said quietly. “For now, the doctors can treat him, and we'll manage the medical bills."

He watched her, waiting.

“But his company is falling apart," she continued. “Even if he wakes up, there are debts, suppliers, banks… they're all pushing. If we don't do something, he could lose everything he built, everything he's worked for his whole life."

She folded her hands to keep them from shaking. Her voice grew almost pleading, though she tried to keep it steady.

“Anderson," she said, lifting her eyes to his, “can you help us?"

He didn't answer right away.

She went on, more quietly, as if afraid of scaring the moment away. “I know it's a lot to ask. But your company is strong. You have resources. If you could lend Dad's company the money it needs to get through this crisis… just enough to stabilize things and buy some time…"

Her words trailed off.

Anderson's face was unreadable. His gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted back to her.

“Money for your father's company," he repeated slowly.

Olivia nodded. “Yes."

The clock ticked again, filling the silence.

For the first time that night, it was not anger that made Anderson quiet, but something else.

He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as he thought.

Olivia held her breath, waiting for his answer.