The Wife He Lost

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The Coastal Town

I did not stop driving until the city disappeared behind me.

The farther I got from the Calder house, the lighter my chest felt, like my lungs were finally expanding after years of breathing shallow. I kept the radio off. I did not want noise. I did not want distractions. I wanted the quiet so I could hear my own thoughts clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

My phone stayed face down on the passenger seat.

It buzzed. Then buzzed again. Then again.

I did not pick it up.

Somewhere behind me, James would be finding the papers. Somewhere behind me, Evelyn would be shrieking. Somewhere behind me, Valerie would be pretending to sob in a hospital bed while her eyes glittered with victory.

Let them.

For once, their voices did not reach me.

By the time I arrived at the airport, I felt strangely calm. Almost detached. Like I was watching my own life from a distance, as if it belonged to someone else.

I checked in under my own name.

Daphne Smith.

Not Calder.

My fingers hesitated slightly as I typed it into the kiosk. The last time I used that name publicly was five years ago, on the day my father let me walk out of his office with nothing but a suitcase and my pride.

The machine printed my boarding pass without judgment.

The name looked foreign on paper. Familiar and unfamiliar at once. Like an old dress that still fit perfectly but carried the weight of another life.

At security, no one recognized me.

At the gate, no one looked twice.

And for the first time in years, I realized how exhausting it had been to exist as Daphne Calder. Always watched. Always measured. Always evaluated.

Now I was just a woman with a suitcase and a boarding pass.

When the plane lifted off, my stomach twisted slightly, not from fear, but from the finality. The ground fell away. The city shrank into nothing. The life I had lived became a distant blur.

I stared out the window until the clouds swallowed everything.

Only then did I allow myself a single thought.

I’m gone.

Not temporarily. Not for space. Not for punishment.

Gone.

When I landed in Europe, the air felt different immediately. Saltier. Cooler. Like the ocean was woven into every breath. I moved through the airport with quiet purpose, rolling my suitcase behind me, head down, blending in with travelers who had no idea they were walking beside a woman who had just set fire to her entire life.

I rented a car and drove for hours, leaving the city behind. The landscape shifted from crowded roads to winding coastal highways. The sky widened. The light softened. The world grew quieter with every mile.

The town I chose was not famous.

That was the point.

It was the kind of place people passed through on the way to somewhere bigger. A quiet coastal town with narrow streets, weathered stone buildings, and small cafés where locals spoke softly over coffee. Seagulls circled above the harbor. Boats rocked gently against the docks. Laundry hung from balconies like little flags of ordinary life.

I checked into a small inn near the water.

The woman behind the desk was older, warm faced, and looked like she had been running the place for decades. She smiled at me with casual kindness, the kind that did not come with conditions.

“First time here?” she asked as she handed me a key.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Good,” she said simply. “This town is quiet. Good for breathing.”

The words struck deeper than she could have known.

Breathing.

I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I had truly breathed.

My room was modest. Clean. White curtains fluttering gently with the sea breeze. A small balcony overlooking the harbor. The bedspread smelled like soap and sunshine.

I set my suitcase down and stood still, listening.

No echoes of Evelyn’s voice. No footsteps that made my body tense. No sharp laughter from Celeste. No soft, poisonous words from Valerie.

Just waves.

Just wind.

Just silence.

I stepped onto the balcony and gripped the railing with both hands. The ocean stretched out in front of me, endless and indifferent. The smell of salt filled my lungs.

And for the first time in years, my chest expanded fully.

A deep inhale.

A real one.

I let it out slowly, my shoulders dropping.

Something in my body loosened.

I stayed there for a long time, watching the sunlight shimmer on the water, watching people walk along the harbor with ice cream in their hands and dogs on leashes, watching life unfold in small, ordinary scenes.

No one looked at me like I was failing.

No one cared whether I could give someone an heir.

No one expected me to smile through humiliation.

For the first time, I was not performing.

I was just existing.

That evening, I walked through town, my hands tucked into the pockets of my coat. I passed a bakery with warm light spilling onto the street. I bought bread I didn’t need just because it smelled comforting. I sat on a bench near the water and ate slowly, watching the sky darken as the sun sank behind the horizon.

My phone buzzed again.

I still didn’t check it.

I didn’t want to know how frantic James had become. I didn’t want to picture his face when he found the letter. I didn’t want to think about Valerie’s reaction when she realized I hadn’t begged or fought.

I wanted this moment.

This quiet.

This illusion of peace.

That night, back in my room, I finally turned my phone on.

The screen lit up instantly with missed calls.

James. James. James.

Evelyn. Celeste.

Even Valerie.

There were messages too. Long ones. Short ones. Angry ones. Pleading ones.

I deleted them all without reading.

Then I turned the phone off again and placed it in the drawer.

I slept that night like I hadn’t slept in years.

No nightmares. No tension. Just darkness and waves in the distance.

In the morning, I woke to sunlight spilling across the bed. The sound of seagulls outside. The quiet hum of the harbor waking up.

I made myself coffee using the small machine in the room, then walked down to the shore.

The sand was cool beneath my shoes. The water moved rhythmically, constant and calm. I stood there at the edge, letting the wind blow my hair back, letting my mind empty.

I believed I was alone.

That was what I wanted. Solitude. Recovery. Time to rebuild myself quietly.

But as I turned to walk back toward town, I noticed someone across the way.

A man standing near the dock, watching the water.

His posture was still, contained, like he was trying not to draw attention. He wore a dark coat, hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed.

Something about him felt familiar.

Not in a casual way.

In a way that pulled at an old memory.

I slowed without meaning to.

He turned slightly, as if sensing my gaze.

And when he looked up, my breath caught hard in my throat.

Because the face staring back at me was impossible.

Anthony Hart.

Alive.