His Favorite Mistake

Chapter 10

I locked the door behind me and walked to the car. Once I was behind the wheel, I sat still for a moment before starting the engine.

As I drove, my eyes kept moving. I checked the side streets. I glanced at the cars waiting at traffic lights. I looked at the people walking along the pavement. There had been evenings before when I had seen him by chance, once coming out of a restaurant, once driving past in the opposite direction. A small, foolish part of me still hoped I might catch a glimpse of him now. Each time a dark car that looked like his appeared, my heart lifted for a second and then fell again when I realized it was not him. By the time I reached the grocery store, the hope had quietened, but it had not completely disappeared.

The grocery store was quieter at that hour. Soft yellow lights. Fewer people. I took a basket and moved slowly through the aisles, placing bread, milk, eggs, and a few vegetables inside without really seeing them. My body performed the actions while my mind stayed fixed on the terracotta stain and the caption on my husband's page.

I was standing in front of the dairy shelf when a familiar voice said my name.

“Esther?”

I turned.

Rachel. We used to work in the same office years ago. She looked well, her hair neatly done, a soft expression, a cart half full of groceries. Her smile faded slightly as she came closer.

“I almost walked past you,” she said. Then her eyes settled on my face more carefully. “Are you all right? Your eyes look tired. Like you've been crying.”

Heat rose in my cheeks.

“I'm fine,” I said quickly. “I just didn't have enough sleep.”

Rachel's expression softened. She gave a small laugh.

“You must have stayed up late with him and forgotten you still needed to sleep properly.”

I tried to smile so she would believe everything was okay.

“Something like that,” I said.

She studied my face for another second, then continued more gently.

“Marriage suits you. I saw Frederick's post earlier. You two really are goals. Always looking so happy. Enjoying every moment."

I gave a small nod.

“I'm serious,” she went on. “Some of us are still out here trying to hold things together, and you're over there living quietly with your husband. Honestly, I still remember how good you were at work. Our boss didn't want to let you go. He used to say you were one of the few people he could actually rely on. When you resigned, a lot of us were surprised. But looking at you now, I think Frederick did you a favor by making you resign. Not every woman gets the chance to be a proper stay-at-home wife. You're lucky.”

The words landed harder than she could have known.

“It was my decision,” I said.

“Of course it was.” She smiled kindly, though her eyes still held a trace of concern. “But still. Not every man can provide enough for his wife to stay home. Most of us are still balancing work and everything else. You're blessed. Really. Sometimes I look at women like you and wonder how different life would feel if things had worked out that way for me too.”

She touched my arm lightly.

“We should catch up properly one of these days. It's been too long.”

“We should,” I replied.

She gave me one last look, then continued down the aisle with her cart.

I stood there holding a carton of milk, staring at the shelves without seeing them. Everyone thought I was happy. Everyone thought I was lucky. Everyone thought the woman with the terracotta lipstick was me.

I paid for the groceries and walked back to the car. Once inside with the doors locked, I sat still for a long while with my hands on the steering wheel. Then I started the engine and drove home.

When I stepped back into the house, the silence felt heavier than before. I put the groceries away one item at a time. The garment bag remained on the bedroom floor. I did not touch it.

I went into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch. Rachel's words kept returning.

Frederick did you a favor by making you resign. You're lucky.

A short, broken sound left my throat. It was almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. I pressed my fingers against my eyes.

I had resigned less than a year after the wedding. Not because I wanted to stay home. Frederick had begun complaining that my job was unproductive. He said I came home too tired. He said the long hours made me less available. He found something wrong with every late evening, every weekend I needed to prepare for work. The pressure became constant. My boss had refused to accept my resignation at first. He said I was one of the strongest people on the team and asked me to reconsider. But the atmosphere at home had already grown heavy enough that staying felt like another battle I no longer had the strength to fight. So I left.

And now people looked at me and called it luck.

I pulled my legs up onto the couch and rested my head against the backrest. My phone stayed face-down beside me. I did not open the comments again. I simply sat there with the lights dimmed, listening to the quiet of the house, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. The street outside remained still. No car pulled into the driveway. No footsteps approached the door.

I kept my eyes open for as long as I could. Every time I almost drifted off, I force

d them open again, listening.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

I fell asleep on the couch, still fully dressed, phone within reach, the house around me completely silent.