The Wife He Left Behind

Chapter 2

Glimpses of Shadows

Isabel's POV

Morning came heavy.

The weight of the previous night lay on my chest like a stone, suffocating in its silence. Sunlight tried to creep in through the sheer curtains, casting soft gold across the bedroom walls, but it couldn’t touch the ice inside me. I lay on my side, curled into myself beneath the silk sheets, staring at nothing. My fingers clutched the edge of Adrian’s pillow, still holding onto the faintest trace of his scent—cologne, betrayal, and that other perfume that wasn’t mine.

Celeste’s perfume.

Every time I closed my eyes, the image returned in perfect clarity: her tousled hair, the way she sat perched so comfortably on him, the smug flicker in her eyes as if she had won a game I hadn’t even known we were playing. And Adrian—cold, distant, unapologetic. His indifference had hurt more than the act itself. We just slept that night, curled to our separate corners of our king size bed, back turned to each other as usual. We didn't talk about it, we never did. I just laid there hoping. Praying he'll finally get to explain himself. And tell me that what I saw yesterday was a mistake. That my eyes lied to me and I was wrong.

A notification buzzed faintly from my phone across the room but I ignored it. I forced myself out of bed. Movements are slow and mechanical. Dragging my feet like a puppet without strings. I walked barefoot across the marble floor, wrapping my arms around myself as if to keep myself from unraveling. My reflection in the mirror stopped me short. The woman staring back wasn't me at all. She looked pale, bruised around the eyes with exhaustion and heartbreak. My robe slipped off my shoulder, exposing the curve of my collarbone, sharp and delicate. I looked like a stranger but I refused to crumble. Not yet.

I busied myself. I couldn't stay still. If I stayed still, I would think. And if I thought, I would fall apart. I poured myself into the motions of something familiar—cooking, washing dishes, setting the table, lighting candles and simmering the roast duck again like last night hadn’t happened. I brushed my hair and touched up my makeup. Not for Adrian. Not even for me. But for the illusion of normalcy. To pretend that all was good.

I chose an emerald green dress again. I told myself it was a coincidence, but part of me knew better. It clung to me a little tighter this time. Or maybe it was my posture that had changed. Maybe I was no longer hopeful, but resigned. The wine I had chilled for last night was still unopened in the fridge. I set it out beside the plates. Two glasses.

It was almost pathetic, but part of me still needed answers.

Around ten, I heard the door open.

I didn’t go to meet him. I stayed seated at the dining table, the food now cold, the wine breathing in silence. I heard his footsteps pause in the hallway. A moment later, Adrian walked in, dressed sharply in a navy suit, his tie loosened slightly at the collar.

He stopped when he saw the table.

"You made dinner again?" he asked, his voice unreadable.

"It was supposed to be for last night," I replied, not looking at him. I kept my gaze on the flickering candle between us, the only light in the room.

He hesitated before walking further in. "I got caught up at work."

"Is that what we’re calling her now? Work?"

He ignored me and walked upstairs.

The clink of silverware echoed in the quiet dining room, a sound too sharp, too lonely. I’d laid everything out just the way he liked it—rosemary-roasted lamb, garlic mashed potatoes, asparagus with a touch of lemon zest. I even lit the candles, the tall ones in the silver holders we’d gotten as a wedding gift, their flames flickering with fragile hope.

My dress, emerald silk, clung to me the way I remembered he used to. The neckline dipped just low enough to catch his eye, and my hair was pinned in soft waves the way he always said made me look like something out of a dream. But now the air hung heavy with the scent of rosemary and expectation, and my reflection in the wineglass looked foolishly hopeful.

He was supposed to be home an hour ago and he just came strolling in. No call, no text, nothing.

I checked my phone for the sixth time. Nothing. No call, no text.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t spiral,” I whispered to myself. “Not yet.”

At last, he returned to the table.

I rose, smoothing my dress, heart fluttering. “Hey,” I said softly, smiling.

His eyes skimmed over me. A flicker of surprise. And then—nothing. No smile. No appreciation. Not even a second glance.

“Isabel,” he said, loosening his tie further. “I’m starving.”

Relief bloomed. Maybe we'll finally get to resolve our differences. I did the right thing afterall. “I made your favorite. Lamb, just the way you like—”

“I won’t be long,” he interrupted, already heading for the table. He didn't notice the candles. Or the wine. Or the dress. I watched him sit, pull out his phone, and start scrolling. A bitter smile danced across my lips. Not even a thank you.

My hands twitched at my sides, but I pasted a pleasant smile back on and sat across from him.

He didn’t touch the lamb. Took one bite of the potatoes and pushed the asparagus around like a disinterested child. And then I caught the faintest trace of something that didn’t belong.

Perfume. Sweet, heavy. Not mine.

I froze, trying to mask the shift in my expression.

“You smell... different,” I said cautiously.

He didn’t even blink. “I met a few clients at that new lounge Celeste recommended. The place was packed. Probably just the scent lingering.”

Celeste.

The name sliced through the air like a blade.

I nodded slowly. “Of course. So.... Celeste is working now?” I said still picking at my food.

His jaw tensed. Silence stretched between us like a taut wire. I looked up at him then, willing him to meet my gaze. He did, briefly, and then looked away.

"Isabel..." he started.

"Don’t you dare lie to me. Not tonight."

He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling. "I don’t want to do this now. I have an early flight."

"Oh really?” I tried to sound interested. “Flight to where?"

"New York. Business meeting, some investors. It came up at the last minute."

My eyes flicked to the hallway. His suitcase was already by the door.

"You packed before you came home," I said, my voice colder now. "How long have you known?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

I stood slowly. My appetite had vanished. The roast duck sat untouched. "Do you still love me, Adrian?"

Another pause. Then he said, "I don’t know."

That answer hurt more than a no.

He took his wine glass and drank half of it before setting it down. He didn’t kiss my cheek, didn’t say goodbye. I just turned and walked out of the dining room like I was a guest in my own home. I listened to the suitcase wheels click softly as he pulled them across the tile. The door clicked shut.

He was gone.

I stood in the empty room, surrounded by the glow of candles and the scent of rosemary and thyme. The food cooled into something unappetizing. I walked over to his untouched plate and slid it into the trash. One by one, I extinguished the candles.

Later that night, I curled up on the couch with the iPad we usually shared. I told myself I was just going to scroll. Maybe distract myself with things that make me happy. Puppy videos or cats, anything at all. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was denial—but something inside me was whispering that there was still hope. Still something left to fight for.

Until a message popped up. Right there, in the corner of the screen.

Celeste: Room 805. Don’t keep me waiting again.. Love C

My heart dropped into my stomach. I stared at the screen, fingers frozen. Every sound in the world seemed to fade away. The message hovered there like a final nail in the coffin.

Room 805.

Again.

So it wasn't just last night. It wasn't just a mistake. It was routine. Planned. Familiar.

I stared at the message. At the smiling wink in that emoji, at the words that weren’t even trying to be discreet.

It wasn’t a misunderstanding, it wasn’t paranoia. I had been right. I was the fool who made dinner while he packed a bag for her.

I closed the iPad slowly, my hands trembling.

The tears didn’t come, not yet. I was past crying. Something inside me had shifted. Something that couldn't be undone. I had to go to that hotel.

Tomorrow, I will find Room 805. And then, maybe, I would finally accept the truth I had tried so hard to deny.