Chapter 3
1708 Words
Chapter 3 – Fractures
They say love dies quietly. Not in screams or shattered glass, but in the space between words — in the silence that stretches too long across a dinner table, in the weight of a bed that feels colder each night.
I used to think silence meant peace. Now I know it’s what grief sounds like before it learns how to speak.
Lucian had been gone for three days on what he called a “business trip” to Cebu. He didn’t bother to tell me until the morning he left — a single kiss on my temple, the smell of his cologne fading before I could even open my eyes.
“You’ll be fine, Sera,” he said.
I didn’t answer. Maybe because I already knew fine was the last thing I was doing.
The house was quieter without him, though lately, it felt like that even when he was there.
Liza, our housekeeper, moved carefully around me, like I was made of glass. I couldn’t blame her. I looked like glass too — polished, transparent, fragile.
“Ma’am,” she said one morning as she arranged fresh orchids on the table, “Sir said he’ll extend his stay. There’s a conference.”
I forced a smile, folding the magazine in my hands. “Of course. Work’s been… demanding lately.”
She hesitated. “Should I still prepare dinner for two?”
The question stung. “Just one,” I said softly. “Thank you, Liza.”
She nodded and left, though her eyes lingered — pity disguised as professionalism.
When she was gone, I pressed my fingers against my temple, breathing through the ache that never left anymore.
Every morning blurred into another. Breakfast for one. Emails I didn’t want to read. Meetings for the atelier that ended with empty promises from Lucian’s assistants.
He said he’d send more funding. He said he believed in my designs. He said he’d always support me.
He said a lot of things.
And yet every call from his office was colder, more mechanical.
“Mr. Hale’s in a meeting, Mrs. Hale.”
“Mr. Hale is currently unavailable.”
“Would you like to leave a message?”
No. What message could I possibly leave for a man who had already stopped listening?
By the third night, the rain returned — hard, relentless, pounding against the balcony glass like it wanted to get in. I sat by the window, a cup of untouched tea cooling beside me. The city lights shimmered through the downpour, bending and breaking in the blur.
My phone buzzed on the table. I reached for it too quickly — hoping, stupidly, that it was him.
It wasn’t.
It was a message from Mother.
Ija, I saw the article about your husband in the papers. Good coverage. Keep smiling. Appearances are everything.
I exhaled a humorless laugh. Of course. Even my mother loved the illusion of our marriage more than the truth of it.
Another message followed from an unknown number — a corporate PR notice about Lucian attending a gala in Cebu with several business partners. Attached was a photo.
He looked immaculate, of course — suit pressed, smile flawless. A hand rested lightly on his arm. A woman’s hand.
I zoomed in before I could stop myself.
The bracelet was familiar. Gold. Minimalist. Dainty.
Selene had one just like it.
My chest tightened, air thinning around me. No. I was imagining things. Coincidences existed. Selene traveled often for her content shoots — she had brand deals in Cebu. That had to be it.
“Ma’am?” Liza’s voice startled me. I quickly set the phone down.
She held a small tray with my untouched dinner. “Should I leave this here?”
I nodded. “Just leave it.”
She lingered a moment. “Ma’am… are you alright?”
I smiled. “Of course, Liza. Why wouldn’t I be?”
But the tremor in my voice betrayed me.
After she left, I sat still for a long time, staring at the plate in front of me. The scent of food turned to nausea.
I wasn’t hungry. Not for food. Not for explanations. Not anymore.
Later that night, I tried to sleep. The bed was too large. The sheets too cold. I pulled Lucian’s pillow close, trying to find traces of him that weren’t fading.
My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
His laugh at the gala. His sudden business trips. Selene’s hesitation when I visited her. The message on her phone. And now, this photo. I turned on my side, tears slipping silently onto the pillow. The sound of rain outside drowned out the small, broken noises that escaped me.
I didn’t even know what I was crying for anymore — the love that was fading or the woman I’d become. Maybe both.
When I finally fell asleep, it was near dawn.
The next morning, the phone rang again. It was Lucian.
For a moment, my heart leapt. I grabbed the phone too quickly. “Lucian?”
“Sera,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’m boarding. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be home by tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow. Not today.
“Okay,” I said softly. “How was the trip?”
“Productive.”
“You sound tired.”
“I am. Don’t start.”
The words hit like a slap. I bit back everything I wanted to say. The silence stretched.
He sighed. “Sera, please. I’m doing this for us.”
Us.
The word used to mean something. Now it felt like a ghost haunting his sentences.
“I know,” I whispered.
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
And then the line went dead.
I stayed there for a while, phone still pressed to my ear, until the dial tone became unbearable.
By the time evening came, I forced myself to attend a charity meeting downtown — something to distract me, something to prove that I still existed beyond his shadow.
The hotel lobby was full of familiar faces — wives of politicians, business heirs, women who smiled too much. They greeted me with warmth laced in curiosity.
“Mrs. Hale! You look divine.”
“Still glowing, I see. Marriage suits you!”
If only they knew.
At the end of the meeting, I excused myself early. On my way out, someone brushed past me — a tall man in a dark suit, familiar eyes catching mine for a second.
Azrael Dreven.
He was on a call, his expression unreadable, but he paused briefly, lowering his phone.
“Mrs. Hale,” he said, voice low but steady.
“Mr. Dreven,” I greeted, forcing a polite smile.
His gaze lingered on me — not invasive, just… observant. “You look tired.”
“I suppose that’s the new fashion,” I replied lightly.
A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “Even the most beautiful things break if you polish them too much.”
I frowned slightly. “You always have a way of saying things that sound like riddles.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket. “And you always have a way of pretending not to understand them.”
Before I could respond, his assistant called him from across the lobby. He gave me a small nod before walking away.
But his words stayed long after he left.
That night, I returned home to an empty house again.
Lucian hadn’t arrived yet. The clock struck past midnight. The sound echoed through the marble halls like a cruel reminder.
I sat in the living room, the glow of the chandelier reflecting off my wine glass. I told myself I wasn’t waiting — that I was simply awake. But I was lying to myself.
The front door opened at 1:47 a.m.
Lucian walked in, smelling of whiskey and fatigue. His tie was undone, his shirt slightly wrinkled.
“You’re home,” I said softly, setting my glass down.
He froze for a moment, clearly not expecting me to be awake. “You should be asleep.”
“I tried.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sera, not tonight, please. I’ve had a long day.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Exactly,” he muttered, brushing past me toward the stairs.
“Lucian.”
He stopped. I stood slowly, my voice trembling. “You used to tell me everything. Every plan, every trip, every deal. When did that stop?”
He didn’t turn around. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not,” I said, my throat tightening. “I just… want to know if I did something wrong.”
That made him pause. He exhaled sharply, finally facing me. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just—”
“Just what?”
He hesitated. “Clingy. Lately.”
The word sliced through me.
I swallowed hard. “Clingy,” I repeated. “I’m sorry. I must’ve mistaken love for… inconvenience.”
His jaw clenched. “Sera, stop twisting everything I say.”
“I’m not twisting anything. I’m just trying to understand why the man I married feels like a stranger.”
He rubbed his temple. “I’m tired of this conversation.”
“Then maybe I’m tired of waiting!” The words burst out before I could stop them.
The silence after was heavy — stunned.
Lucian stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned away. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”
He walked off, leaving me standing there — trembling, humiliated, and more alone than ever.
When the door clicked shut, something inside me cracked.
I sank onto the couch, covering my face with my hands. My sobs came quietly, muffled by the sound of rain against the glass.
But even in my tears, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. I still defended him — even in my mind.
He’s just tired, I told myself. It’s just work. He still loves me. He has to.
Because if he didn’t, then everything I’d built — everything I’d sacrificed — would mean nothing.
And I wasn’t ready to face that truth.
Not yet.
- Writer
