The Wife He Destroyed

The dinner had gone cold twice before Isabella Blackwood finally stopped reheating it. She stood in the kitchen of the Blackwood residence, staring at the two plates arranged on the marble island. The candles had burned low, leaving little pools of wax around their bases. Beyond the tall windows, the city glittered beneath the night sky, beautiful and distant. Adrian had promised to be home by eight. It was now eleven forty-three. Isabella glanced at her phone. Her last message to her husband remained unanswered. Are you still coming home for dinner? She had sent it two hours earlier. At first, she had been patient. Adrian was the chairman of Blackwood Holdings, a man whose days were filled with meetings, negotiations, and people who wanted something from him. She understood the demands of his position. She had understood them when they were dating, and she had understood them during the two years they had been married. But lately, understanding him had begun to feel like making excuses for him. There was always a meeting that ran late. A business emergency that could not wait. A call he had to take outside their bedroom. And, increasingly, there was Victoria Sinclair. Victoria had been Adrian's first serious love. She belonged to the world he had grown up in: old money, powerful families, charity galas, and friendships that seemed to survive every change in circumstance. Their relationship had ended years before Adrian met Isabella, but the past had never entirely released its hold on him. Victoria had recently returned to the city after spending several years abroad. Since then, Adrian had become a man Isabella barely recognized. He still kissed her forehead before leaving in the morning. He still asked whether she needed anything from the shops. He still transferred money into their household account without being asked. Yet the small things that had once made her feel loved were disappearing. He no longer asked about the architectural projects that excited her. He rarely noticed when she dressed for him. Sometimes, when she spoke, she could see his attention drifting toward the phone in his hand. He provided for her. He simply seemed to have forgotten how to be with her. Isabella picked up her phone and called him. It rang four times before he answered. "Isabella?" His voice sounded distracted. Behind him, she heard the murmur of several people talking. "Hi, darling." She tried to sound cheerful. "Are you still at the office?" "No. I'm out." She paused. "Out where?" There was a brief silence. "Victoria called. She's having a difficult evening." Isabella looked at the untouched dinner. "Is she all right?" "She's upset about something. I needed to check on her." "You could have told me you weren't coming home." "I thought I'd be back earlier." "You said we'd have dinner together." "I know." His answer came too quickly, as if he wanted to close the subject before it could become a conversation. Isabella rested her free hand against the kitchen counter. "Adrian, I've been waiting for you." "And I said I'm sorry." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm not asking you to come home because the food is getting cold. I wanted to spend time with you." "Can we not do this tonight?" The words hurt more than they should have. "Do what?" "Turn every little thing into an argument." She stared at the dark windows, seeing her reflection in the glass. Every little thing. She wondered when wanting her husband beside her had become an unreasonable demand. "I'm not trying to argue," she said quietly. "I just miss you." For a moment, she thought he might soften. She could almost imagine him rubbing the back of his neck, recognizing that he had been absent more often than he cared to admit. Instead, he sighed. "Victoria doesn't have many people she can rely on right now. Can this wait until tomorrow?" Isabella's fingers tightened around the phone. "And what about me?" "What about you?" The question was not cruelly delivered. That somehow made it worse. He sounded genuinely confused, as though her needs had never occurred to him. She swallowed. "Nothing. Forget it." "Good. I'll see you later." The call ended before she could decide whether she wanted to say goodbye. For several seconds, Isabella remained perfectly still. Then she carried the untouched plates to the refrigerator. She had become very good at putting things away. Her disappointment. Her questions. Her anger. Everything had its place, as long as none of it inconvenienced Adrian. Upstairs, she changed out of the dress she had chosen for dinner and put on a soft cotton nightdress. She washed her face, brushed her hair, and sat at the dressing table. A small envelope lay in the top drawer. She had bought a pregnancy test that afternoon after realizing her period was late. She had taken it alone in the bathroom, barely breathing while she waited for the result. Two lines. She had checked the instructions three times, then searched the packaging for a reason to doubt what she was seeing. But the result had not changed. She was pregnant. The knowledge had filled her with a happiness so sudden that she had cried. For several minutes, she had imagined telling Adrian over dinner. She had pictured his face changing from surprise to wonder. Perhaps he would lift her into his arms. Perhaps he would hold her close and talk about the future they had never seriously discussed. They had spoken about children in passing, usually when someone else announced a pregnancy. Adrian had always said they would have a family someday. Someday had seemed comfortably far away. Now it was here. Isabella opened the drawer and touched the envelope. She wanted to tell him. More than anything, she wanted to share the news with the man who was going to be the baby's father. But she did not want the announcement to become another thing squeezed between his meetings and Victoria's phone calls. She wanted him to be present. She wanted the moment to belong to them. So she put the envelope back. At twelve thirty, she climbed into bed and left the lamp on beside Adrian's pillow. At one seventeen, the front door opened. She heard his footsteps crossing the hallway. A moment later, he entered the bedroom, loosening his tie. "You're awake?" "I was waiting for you." He looked at the lamp, then at her. "You should have gone to sleep." She sat up against the pillows. "How is Victoria?" "She's fine now." "That's good." Adrian removed his watch and placed it on the bedside table. For one foolish second, Isabella hoped he would ask why she had been waiting, or notice that she had changed into her nightdress hours ago. She hoped he would sit beside her and pull her into an embrace. Instead, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm exhausted, Bella. Let's talk tomorrow." She watched him disappear into the bathroom. Bella. He still called her that, but lately the nickname sounded like a habit rather than a declaration of affection. When he returned, he climbed into bed and turned off his lamp. Within minutes, his breathing grew steady. Isabella lay awake beside him. She thought about the tiny life growing inside her, a life Adrian knew nothing about. She wondered whether the baby would have his eyes, his stubbornness, or the little crease that appeared between his brows when he concentrated. She imagined telling him the next morning. Then she remembered his voice on the phone. Can this wait until tomorrow? Perhaps tomorrow would be different. She held on to that possibility because she did not know what else to hold on to. In the darkness, Adrian shifted closer and rested an arm across her waist. The familiar gesture should have comforted her. Instead, it reminded her that physical closeness and emotional presence were not the same thing. She carefully moved his arm and slipped out of bed. At the dressing table, she opened the drawer once more and took out the envelope. She held it against her chest. "Your daddy doesn't know about you yet," she whispered. Her voice trembled, but she smiled through it. "He will. I'll tell him tomorrow." She returned to bed and placed the envelope inside her bedside drawer. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to imagine a future that did not depend on Adrian getting everything right. A future with a child who would need her. A future in which she would have to be brave, even when she felt alone. She did not know yet how lonely that future might become. She only knew that, tonight, her husband had been given a choice. And once again, he had chosen Victoria.