The Wife He Left to Die

Chapter 5

"Thanks, Violet. This broth is amazing."

After Cedric carefully blew on the broth to cool it, Clara took a delicate sip. Her face lit up with exaggerated pleasure.

"You will be my baby's godmother when they are born," she cooed sweetly across the table.

Then suddenly, her face contorted in wrenching pain.

"Ah. My stomach." She gasped, clutching her abdomen with both hands. "It hurts so bad. My baby. Something is wrong with my baby."

Cedric's heart leaped into his throat. "Clara. What is wrong? What happened?" Panic rose in his voice, sharp and urgent.

Tears welled in Clara's eyes as she turned slowly toward Violet. Her expression shifted to one of wounded accusation.

"Ms. Shaw. Did you put something in the broth? It tastes strange. I feel like I am dying. I think I am dying."

Before Violet could respond, before she could even open her mouth, Cedric's hand connected with her face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room.

"You heartless witch," he snarled. "You evil, heartless witch."

Violet collapsed to the floor. The bowl she had been holding shattered beside her, and the spilled broth seared her skin as it splattered across her clothes and arms. The burning pain shot through her flesh, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing ache in her swollen cheek.

Tears streamed down her face, hot and silent and unstoppable.

"You were a mother too." Cedric's voice shook with rage as he gathered the trembling Clara into his arms. "You carried a child. You lost a child. How could you be so cruel to someone else who is pregnant? How could you?"

He glared at her with eyes like ice.

"If anything happens to her, you will pay for it. If anything happens to my baby, I will make sure you regret the day you were born."

Then he was gone, carrying Clara out the door and leaving Violet crumpled on the kitchen floor.

She sat there for a long time.

Numb.

Hollow.

Empty.

Hours passed, marked only by the slow crawl of shadows across the floor. Her tears dried to nothing, leaving only salt tracks on her skin.

'How could he trust Clara's word over hers? Just like that, without a single question, without a moment of doubt? After ten years together. After everything they had survived.'

It was past midnight when Cedric finally returned.

He walked through the door clutching a convenience store bag of snacks. He found her still sitting on the floor, still in the same spot, still wearing the same broth-stained clothes.

"Try these," he said softly, sitting down beside her. He opened the bag and spread the contents on the floor between them. "I got them for you. I remembered you like this kind, right?"

A flicker of guilt crossed his face as his eyes caught the lingering red mark on her cheek.

"About today. I am sorry." He reached for her hand, but she pulled away before he could touch her. "I did not mean to hit you. I panicked. Clara was in pain, and I just reacted. You know how I get when I am scared."

Violet glanced at the snacks scattered on the floor.

Every single one was Clara's favorite. Not hers. Not even close.

She was too exhausted to argue. Too tired to point it out. Too empty to care anymore.

"I am going to sleep," she murmured, and her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

She started to push herself up, but Cedric stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Wait." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. "You mentioned wanting to see this opera, right? The one with the soprano you like? I got us seats for tomorrow. Box seats. The best in the house."

She stared at the tickets without speaking.

When she remained silent, he tucked them into her limp hand. His touch was almost apologetic, almost tender, almost like it used to be.

"Get some rest. We will go together tomorrow. It will be like old times."

Another empty sorry. Another hollow gesture.

'Like that fixed anything.'

Violet had no intention of going the next day. But Cedric dragged her along, relentless in his pursuit of normalcy. He chattered in the car about the composer, the singers, the reviews. He held her hand as they walked into the theater.

They sat in the opera house, waiting for the performance to begin. The orchestra tuned their instruments in a warm wash of sound. The lights dimmed.

But before the first act started, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen. His expression shifted instantly.

"Cedric." Clara's sugary voice came through the phone, loud enough for Violet to hear in the quiet theater. "I am craving those cream puffs from the patisserie on the east side. The ones with the vanilla filling. And I want something sour too. Pickles maybe. Or lemons. Can you bring them? Please?"

"Of course," he answered without a moment's hesitation. "I will get it now. Stay right there. Do not move."

Only after he hung up did he notice Violet's quiet gaze fixed on him.

"Clara has been struggling with morning sickness. She finally has an appetite today, so I have to. You understand, right? She is eating for two now."

"Go ahead," Violet cut in. Her tone was flat, empty of inflection. Like she had expected nothing less.

Cedric gave her a grateful look, relief flooding his features. Then he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before rushing off down the aisle.

Violet sat through the entire opera alone.

The seat beside her remained cold and empty through every aria, every intermission, every curtain call. The music swelled and faded around her, beautiful and meaningless.

As the final curtains fell and the applause thundered through the theater, Violet had a sudden realization.

She felt nothing.

No anger. No sadness. No grief. Just a vast, quiet emptiness where all those feelings used to live.

Just then, her phone buzzed in her lap.

She glanced down at the screen. Her social media feed showed a new post. Clara's table piled high with pastries and snacks. Cedric bending down to massage her feet, his face soft with concern and devotion.

In the past, such sights would have crushed her. They would have sent her spiraling into darkness.

But this time, she looked at the image and gave a small, resigned smile.

"Cedric," she whispered to the empty seat beside her. "I am ready to let you go."

She walked home through the evening streets. The lights of the city blurred past her, meaningless and bright.

When she reached the house, she ran into him just as he was heading out the door.

He rushed to grab a towel at the sight of her damp clothes. Rain had started falling somewhere along her walk, and she had not noticed until now.

"I was just about to pick you up," he said, holding out the towel. "The opera must be over by now. I was coming to get you, but..."

"Do not bother."

She stepped around him, subtly avoiding his touch. She did not want his hands on her anymore.

"I want to move Nina's grave."

He paused, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Move it? Why? The cemetery is fine. It is a good plot, a good location."

"Last night, I dreamed she told me she was unhappy there." Violet's voice stayed steady. Calm. "She wants to be somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere with more trees."

No suspicion crossed his face. No question, no doubt. He simply nodded.

"If that is what you want, we will do it. I will make the calls tomorrow. Whatever you need."

Little did he know this was her final act before leaving him forever.

She would take her child away from this place of heartbreak. Away from the man who had failed them both. Away from the memories that haunted every corner.

She would find somewhere peaceful for Nina to rest.

And then she would finally, finally rest too.