Broken Marriage

Chapter 5

"How are you, Belle?" Instead of answering Isabelle's question, he countered with one of his own.

"I'm fine, how about you, Sam?" Isabelle replied, her voice carrying a hint of surprise.

The man before her, Samuel Theodore Hayesworth, her childhood friend, offered a soft smile. Years had passed since their paths diverged, when William left for his studies in London. Samuel had been conspicuously absent, even on her wedding day. She had lost all contact, as if he'd vanished into thin air.

"As you can see," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "I'm doing well enough."

"Then why are you here, Sam?" she pressed, needing an answer.

"I wanted to revisit some old memories. This place seemed like the perfect start. I didn't expect to find you here, but I'm certainly not complaining."

"When did you get back?"

"A week ago."

"A week?" she echoed, a touch of reproach in her voice. "Why didn't you say something? Don't you consider me a friend anymore?"

"It's not like that, Isabelle," he said softly, his gaze sincere. "I just didn't want to intrude on your life with your husband. Things are different now that you're married. I can't just call you whenever I feel like it."

His words hung in the air, silencing her.

"Oh, yes," he continued, a forced brightness in his tone. "How is William? Why didn't he come with you?"

The question struck a nerve. William. She fought to keep her expression neutral, determined not to burden Samuel with her marital woes. If a divorce was inevitable, she would handle it quietly, privately.

"The beach looks lovely," she said, abruptly changing the subject. She turned and headed towards the door, desperate to escape the conversation.

Samuel watched her go, a frown creasing his brow. Something was clearly amiss, but he knew better than to pry. If Isabelle wanted to confide in him, she would.

"Whatever it is," he murmured to himself, his gaze following her retreating figure, "I hope you're alright, Isabelle."

He hadn't missed the shadows beneath her eyes, the forced cheerfulness in her voice when he mentioned William. And those puffy eyes… They spoke volumes. If William was the cause of her pain, Samuel wouldn't stand idly by.

Meanwhile, William sat in the confines of his car, Victoria beside him. He was driving her home, finally released from the hospital. The silence in the car was heavy, filled with unspoken tension. He couldn't shake the memory of his argument with Isabelle, the unease that gnawed at his insides. A sense of foreboding had settled upon him, fueled by his absence the previous night and the fear of further alienating his wife.

"Will," Victoria said softly, breaking the silence as they pulled up to her house, "would you like to come in for a bit?"

"No," he said, his voice firm. "I should get back. It's late, and you need to rest."

"Thank you for everything, William," she said, her voice laced with gratitude. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Don't worry about it, Victoria," he replied, forcing a smile. "I helped you because you're my friend."

"Alright," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. He watched as she turned to go, then started the engine. "I need to fix things with Isabelle."

Victoria watched the car disappear down the street, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "Just a friend, Will," she whispered to herself. "If only you knew how much I long for you to see me as something more."

William finally arrived home, a sense of dread washing over him as he stepped inside. The house was eerily quiet, devoid of any sign of Isabelle.

"Is she asleep already?" he wondered aloud. "But it's still so early."

He hurried to their bedroom, his heart sinking as he found it empty. He retraced his steps, searching for any sign of her, finally cornering one of the maids.

"Where's Isabelle?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

The three maids exchanged nervous glances, each hesitant to speak.

"What's going on?" he snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Where is my wife?"

"M-Miss Isabelle left this morning, sir," one of them stammered, her eyes wide with fear.

"Left? Where?"

"We don't know, sir. She just packed a suitcase and left."

"What?!" he roared, his mind reeling. "Did she say anything? Where she was going?"

"No, sir," the maid replied, shaking her head. "She just left."

William ran back to the bedroom, throwing open the closet. Empty. All of Isabelle's clothes were gone. He charged back to the maids, his anger barely contained.

"Why didn't you call me?" he bellowed.

"We did, sir," one of the maids said timidly. "But you didn't answer."

He pulled out his phone, his stomach clenching as he saw the numerous missed calls from the house.

Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the house, desperate to find her. He searched everywhere, even her parents' house, but she was nowhere to be found. He called her friends, but none of them had seen her.

"Isabelle," he whispered, his voice filled with despair. "Where are you?"

He sank to his knees, the weight of his actions crashing down on him.

"I'm sorry, Isabelle," he cried out, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Don't leave me. Please come back!"

Isabelle gasped, jolting awake. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, and looked around the room. Relief washed over her as she realized she was in her own bedroom.

"Just a dream," she murmured, running a hand through her hair.

"But why would I dream about William?" she wondered aloud. "He probably doesn't even care. He's probably with Victoria right now."

Thirsty, she got out of bed and wandered into the hallway. The house was silent, Samuel having left that afternoon. She didn't want him staying over, not tonight. She needed to be alone.

"It's so quiet," she mused. "I should probably hire a maid to keep me company."

After quenching her thirst, she turned to go back to her room, her gaze falling upon an old, forgotten cabinet. Curiosity piqued, she reached for the handle, only to find it locked.

"Locked?" she wondered.

"Where's the key?" She searched the room, her fingers brushing against various objects, until finally, she found it tucked away in a dusty corner.

With trembling hands, she inserted the key and turned. The cabinet creaked open, revealing a treasure trove of memories from her parents' past. There were even photographs of her parents with William's parents, all of them looking young and carefree.

"They looked so happy," she whispered, a pang of sadness in her heart.

She continued to sift through the contents of the cabinet, until her fingers brushed against a thick, official-looking document. Intrigued, she pulled it out and began to read.

"What does this mean?" she whispered, her eyes widening in disbelief. "My parents' death wasn't an accident? Someone did this on purpose?"

Driven by a desperate need to know the truth, she devoured every document in the cabinet, her heart pounding faster with each passing moment, until she stumbled upon a revelation that shattered her world.

"William's parents were responsible for my parents' death?!"