CHAPTER THREE: THE SILENCE BETWEEN THEM
1640 Words
Damian knew something was wrong the moment he walked into his apartment.
It was too quiet.
Usually, Amara would leave something behind.
A book on the coffee table.
A mug in the kitchen.
Her scarf hanging over the back of a chair.
Something.
Anything.
She had a way of making his carefully ordered apartment feel lived in.
That evening, there was nothing.
Damian loosened his tie as he stepped farther inside.
“Amara?”
No answer.
He checked the kitchen.
Empty.
The bedroom.
Empty.
The balcony.
Empty.
He pulled out his phone.
He had called her three times since leaving the office.
She hadn’t answered.
He called again.
Straight to voicemail.
His forehead creased.
They had argued before.
They had disagreed.
But Amara had never disappeared without saying anything.
He opened their message thread.
His last message was still there.
I’ll call you when I’m finished here.
She hadn’t replied.
Damian frowned.
He typed:
Where are you?
He waited.
Nothing.
Another message.
Amara, please call me.
Still nothing.
He called again.
Voicemail.
Something cold settled in his chest.
He grabbed his keys.
The first place he went was her apartment.
He knocked.
Nothing.
He knocked again.
“Amara?”
Silence.
He tried the door.
Locked.
He called her name once more.
Nothing.
A neighbor opened her door across the hallway.
“Are you looking for Amara?”
Damian turned.
“Yes.”
“She left.”
His stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Earlier today.”
“Where did she go?”
The woman shrugged.
“I don’t know. She had luggage.”
“Luggage?”
“Yes.”
Damian stared at the closed apartment door.
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No.”
“Was she alone?”
The woman hesitated.
“She looked upset.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“Did anyone come to see her?”
“I don’t know.”
He thanked her and stepped away.
His mind raced.
Amara was leaving.
But why?
He returned to his car and immediately called her again.
Nothing.
He drove to the places she sometimes visited.
A small café near her office.
Nothing.
The bookstore she loved.
Nothing.
Her friend’s apartment.
No one answered.
By midnight, Damian was sitting alone in his car outside her building.
Rain tapped against the windshield.
He stared at the dark windows.
Four hours earlier, he had been irritated that she hadn’t answered his call.
Now irritation had become fear.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
He replayed their last conversation.
She had asked where he was.
He had told her he was in a meeting.
Then she had said his mother came to see her.
Damian sat upright.
His mother.
He immediately called her.
She answered after several rings.
“Damian?”
“Did you visit Amara?”
There was silence.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We needed to talk.”
“About what?”
His mother’s voice remained calm.
“About you.”
Damian’s grip tightened around the phone.
“What did you tell her?”
“That she needed to understand your responsibilities.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Damian—”
“What did you tell her?”
His mother sighed.
“She knows that your life is complicated.”
“Did you tell her I wanted to end our relationship?”
Another silence.
Damian’s expression changed.
“Mother.”
“I told her what I believed was best.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
He closed his eyes.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
“I don’t.”
“Did you tell her to leave me?”
“Damian, this relationship was never going to work.”
His eyes opened.
“That wasn’t your decision.”
“You’re my son.”
“And she is the woman I love.”
His mother’s voice hardened.
“You are making an emotional decision.”
“No.”
He stared through the windshield.
“You made one.”
He ended the call.
For the first time, a terrible possibility entered his mind.
His mother had interfered.
But why?
What had she said to Amara?
And what had Amara believed?
Damian returned to the apartment the following morning.
He knocked again.
Nothing.
He contacted the building manager.
“Has Amara moved out?”
The manager looked uncomfortable.
“She left yesterday.”
“Did she leave a forwarding address?”
“No.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No.”
Damian stared at him.
“Did she take everything?”
“Almost.”
“Almost?”
“She left a few things.”
“Can I see them?”
The manager hesitated.
“Mr. Carter—”
“Please.”
Eventually, he opened the apartment.
Damian stepped inside.
The place looked strangely empty.
A few books remained.
One plant sat near the window.
A photograph lay face down on the kitchen counter.
Damian picked it up.
His breath caught.
It was a photograph of them.
He remembered the day it had been taken.
Amara had laughed because he had been trying to look serious.
He had told her he looked perfectly serious.
She had disagreed.
He had kissed her.
Now the memory hurt.
He placed the photograph back down.
Then he noticed something else.
A small envelope.
His name was written on it.
Damian stared.
He picked it up.
There was no stamp.
No address.
Just:
DAMIAN
His heart began to beat faster.
He opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He read it.
Then read it again.
His expression changed.
The letter wasn’t a breakup letter.
It wasn’t an explanation.
It was something else.
A question.
If you ever wondered why I left, ask yourself who had access to the messages between us.
Damian stared at the words.
His pulse quickened.
He read the rest.
I tried to reach you. More than once.
I waited for you to come.
When you didn’t, I believed you had made your choice.
There was no signature.
But Damian knew the handwriting.
Amara.
He sat down.
His mind raced through every conversation they had had during the previous weeks.
The missed calls.
The unanswered messages.
The sudden changes.
His mother’s visit.
Victoria’s strange behavior.
A possibility began forming.
Someone had interfered.
But who?
He picked up his phone and called his assistant.
“I need you to do something.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Find every message and call between Amara and me from the last three months.”
A pause.
“All of them?”
“All.”
“I’ll need access to the communication records.”
“Get it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t tell anyone what you’re doing.”
“Understood.”
Damian ended the call.
For the first time, he wasn’t searching for Amara simply because he missed her.
He was searching because something didn’t make sense.
And Damian Carter hated unanswered questions.
Two days passed.
Then three.
No word from Amara.
His assistant finally returned with the records.
They met in Damian’s office.
The assistant placed a folder on the desk.
“I found something.”
Damian opened it.
“What?”
“There are several messages from your phone that were sent successfully.”
Damian looked up.
“To Amara?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She didn’t receive all of them.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“How is that possible?”
“Some were redirected.”
“Redirected where?”
The assistant hesitated.
“That’s the strange part.”
He placed another document on the desk.
“The records show that the messages were accessed through an administrative account.”
Damian stared at the page.
“Whose?”
The assistant looked uncomfortable.
“An account connected to the Carter family.”
Silence.
Damian slowly leaned back.
“Whose account?”
“I haven’t confirmed the individual yet.”
“Find out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the messages Amara sent?”
“We’re still tracing those.”
Damian nodded.
“Do it quietly.”
His assistant gathered the documents.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“Sir?”
Damian looked up.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“One of the messages from Amara was intercepted on the same day your mother visited her.”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“Which message?”
His assistant placed a printed copy in front of him.
Damian read it.
His heart stopped.
Damian, I need to tell you something important. I’m pregnant. Please come see me.
He stared at the words.
The room seemed to disappear.
Pregnant.
His eyes moved over the message again.
Then again.
He whispered the word.
“Pregnant.”
Four years later, a little boy had stood in front of him with his eyes.
Damian slowly lowered the paper.
His hands were shaking.
He had spent four years believing Amara had chosen to leave him.
But now he knew something he hadn’t known yesterday.
She had tried to tell him.
And someone had stopped her.
He looked toward the window.
Outside, the city continued as though nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Damian picked up his phone.
“Find her.”
His assistant looked at him.
“Amara?”
“Yes.”
“And if we find her?”
Damian stared at the message again.
His voice was quiet.
“Bring me the truth.”
He ended the call.
For the first time, Damian allowed himself to consider the possibility that the woman he had spent four years blaming might never have abandoned him at all.
And if that was true, then someone had stolen four years from both of them.
He just didn’t know yet how much more they had stolen.
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