The Divorce He’ll Regret

Chapter 4 — The Empty House

The Kensington residence had never been particularly quiet.

Even when Julian was away, there had always been the discreet movement of staff, the opening and closing of doors, the distant sound of footsteps across polished floors, and the occasional murmur of someone answering a phone in the corridor. It was a house designed for grandeur rather than solitude.

Yet on the first morning after Anneliese left, Julian woke to a silence that seemed to have settled over every room.

He opened his eyes at six thirty, as he always did, and stared at the ceiling for several seconds before remembering that he was alone.

For a year, Anneliese had slept on the other side of the enormous bed. They had rarely touched while sleeping, maintaining the same careful distance they observed during the day, but he had grown accustomed to the faint sound of her breathing. Sometimes she woke before him and quietly opened the curtains. Other mornings, she remained beneath the covers with a book until he left for work.

He had never considered those habits important.

Now the room felt strangely unfamiliar.

Julian sat up and reached for his phone. Several messages from his office had arrived overnight, including an update regarding an acquisition he had been negotiating for weeks. Normally, his attention would have shifted immediately to business.

Instead, his eyes moved toward the empty space beside him.

The sheets were perfectly smooth.

Anneliese had always made the bed before leaving the room.

Julian frowned at the thought.

He stood, showered, dressed, and walked downstairs.

The dining room looked exactly as it had the previous evening. The staff had cleared away the dinner, but the room retained the faintest trace of the flowers Anneliese had arranged near the window.

Julian stopped when he saw them.

White roses.

She had always preferred them.

He remembered buying flowers for her once, several months into their marriage. He had asked the florist to send something appropriate to the house without giving it much thought. The arrangement had contained red roses.

Anneliese had thanked him with a smile.

The next morning, he had noticed that she had moved them from the bedroom to the study.

At the time, he hadn’t understood why.

Now he remembered her mentioning casually that she liked white roses because they made a room feel peaceful.

Julian stared at the arrangement.

“Sir?”

He turned.

The housekeeper stood near the doorway.

“Breakfast is ready.”

Julian nodded and sat down.

A plate was placed before him.

He looked at it.

Then at the empty chair opposite his.

“She usually sits there,” he said.

The housekeeper hesitated.

“Yes, sir.”

Julian picked up his coffee.

It tasted different.

He frowned.

“Who prepared this?”

“Mrs. Harrington usually did.”

The answer was so simple that he almost felt embarrassed for asking.

Anneliese had prepared his coffee every morning.

Not because anyone had asked her to.

She simply remembered how he liked it.

He had never thanked her.

Julian put the cup down.

“I’ll have tea.”

The housekeeper immediately turned to leave.

“Wait.”

She stopped.

“How did she take hers?”

The woman smiled faintly.

“Mrs. Harrington always had chamomile tea in the morning.”

Julian nodded.

He knew that.

He had seen the same tea beside her plate countless times.

Yet he had never noticed that it was a daily ritual.

He ate breakfast in silence.

Halfway through the meal, his gaze landed on the chair again.

He remembered their anniversary dinner.

Anneliese sitting there in an ivory dress.

The candles.

The small cake.

The way she had looked pleased when he laughed at something she said.

He had forgotten the anniversary until she reminded him.

She had never complained.

Julian pushed the memory away and reached for his phone.

He had a meeting in forty minutes.

There was no reason to sit here thinking about his former wife.

They were divorced.

That was the point.

He left for the office.

By nine, Julian was sitting at the head of the Kensington Group’s executive boardroom, listening to a presentation concerning an international investment. Several directors were discussing projected returns, expansion opportunities, and potential risks.

Julian understood every figure being presented.

He simply wasn’t listening as closely as usual.

“Mr. Kensington?”

He looked up.

The financial director paused.

“We were waiting for your decision.”

Julian glanced at the documents in front of him.

“Proceed with the acquisition.”

The director nodded.

“Understood.”

The meeting continued.

Julian forced himself to focus, but his mind kept drifting back to the house.

He wondered whether Anneliese had arrived safely at her new apartment.

He knew she had arranged her own transportation.

He knew she had refused his offer to provide another residence.

He didn’t know where exactly she was living.

The realization bothered him.

Before the meeting ended, he called his assistant.

“Find out whether Anneliese has settled in.”

His assistant looked surprised.

“Mrs. Kensington?”

Julian’s expression hardened.

“She’s no longer Mrs. Kensington.”

“Of course, sir.”

A brief pause followed.

“Would you like a full report?”

“No. Just confirm that she’s safe.”

His assistant nodded.

“I’ll handle it.”

Julian returned his attention to the meeting.

He told himself there was nothing unusual about making sure someone he had once been responsible for was safe.

It was basic consideration.

Nothing more.

That afternoon, he received a message confirming that Anneliese had arrived at her apartment.

No address was included.

Julian stared at the message longer than necessary.

Then he locked his phone.

Across the city, Anneliese was standing in the small kitchen of her new home, attempting to prepare lunch while reading instructions from a recipe she had found online.

She had never been particularly skilled at cooking.

Julian had always preferred meals prepared by professional chefs, and Anneliese had never wanted to compete with them. Still, she had enjoyed preparing simple dishes for herself.

Today, the kitchen felt different.

There was no staff waiting nearby.

No enormous dining room.

No reason to dress beautifully for dinner.

She could finally live according to her own schedule.

For the first time since leaving the Kensington residence, she felt a strange sense of relief.

Her phone vibrated.

She looked at the screen.

For one hopeful second, she thought it might be Julian.

It wasn’t.

The clinic had sent another reminder about her upcoming appointment.

Anneliese exhaled softly.

She placed the phone on the counter and returned to cooking.

Her life had changed overnight.

There would be difficult days ahead, but she had decided she would not spend them wishing Julian had chosen differently.

She wanted her child to grow up surrounded by love, even if that love came from only one parent.

When she finished lunch, Anneliese sat beside the window and opened a notebook.

She began writing a list.

Expenses.

Medical appointments.

Baby supplies.

A possible nursery.

Work arrangements.

She had always found comfort in organizing difficult problems into manageable pieces.

Halfway down the page, she paused.

At the bottom, almost without thinking, she wrote:

Things I want my child to know.

She stared at the sentence.

Then she began writing.

You were wanted.

You were loved.

You were never a burden.

Her eyes filled with tears.

She closed the notebook.

Back at the Kensington residence, Julian returned home later than usual.

He entered through the front door and instinctively looked toward the dining room.

The table was empty.

No flowers had been placed near his usual seat.

There was no second cup waiting beside his.

He removed his coat.

“Sir, dinner will be served in the dining room.”

Julian hesitated.

“Is there enough for two?”

The housekeeper looked at him carefully.

“Yes.”

“Then serve one.”

She nodded.

Julian walked into the dining room and sat alone.

The meal was excellent.

It tasted like nothing.

He ate a few bites before putting his fork down.

His eyes moved to the chair where Anneliese had always sat.

He remembered something insignificant.

One evening, she had been reading at the table while waiting for him. He had asked what she was reading.

She had shown him the cover.

He had forgotten the title.

Now he wanted to remember.

Julian leaned back.

He suddenly wondered how much of Anneliese he had failed to notice simply because he had never tried hard enough.

The question irritated him.

He didn’t owe himself an answer.

He didn’t owe her one either.

Their marriage was over.

Katherine was waiting for him.

That was the future he had chosen.

His phone vibrated.

A message from Katherine appeared.

Dinner tomorrow?

Julian looked at it.

He should have answered immediately.

Instead, he found himself staring at the empty chair again.

After several seconds, he typed:

Yes.

He put the phone away.

Then he looked toward the windows.

Rain had begun falling again, softly coating the glass.

For an inexplicable moment, Julian remembered Anneliese standing by those same windows on their first anniversary, smiling as she told him about a book she had been reading.

He had thought the moment insignificant.

Now he wished he could remember exactly what she had said.

The realization unsettled him enough that he stood and left the room.

Upstairs, he passed their bedroom and stopped outside the door.

He had no reason to enter.

Still, he opened it.

The room looked untouched.

Anneliese had taken only her personal belongings. A few books remained on the shelves, along with a porcelain cup she had apparently forgotten.

Julian walked toward the bookshelf.

He noticed a small handwritten note tucked inside one of the books.

He pulled it out.

It was written in Anneliese’s delicate handwriting.

I hope someday you’ll find the happiness you deserve.

Julian stared at the words.

He didn’t know when she had written them.

He didn’t know why she had left them behind.

For the first time since signing the divorce papers, something resembling regret settled heavily inside him.

He folded the note carefully and placed it back inside the book.

Then he stood alone in the room they had once shared, surrounded by the remnants of a marriage he had been certain he wanted to end.

Julian had believed freedom would feel like relief.

Instead, the house was beginning to feel like a place that had lost something.

And for the first time, he wondered whether he had mistaken the absence of conflict for the absence of love.