Chapter 5 A Step That Cannot Be Undone (Lucas’s POV)
1222 Words
“Why does this house feel different?”
The words slipped out the moment I opened the door. Nothing had really changed, and yet something was missing, something I couldn’t quite explain.
I stepped inside, placing my keys on the table as usual. I took off my shoes without thinking and set my work bag in its place. Every movement felt automatic, just like any other day. But the silence in this house felt deeper.
Emptier.
I frowned slightly, glancing around the neatly arranged living room. No sound of footsteps. No noise from the kitchen. No presence that was usually there, even if I often ignored it.
“Alicia?” I called briefly.
No answer.
I walked further in, past the living room, toward the kitchen. Empty. Too clean. Even the glass that usually sat on the table was gone.
My steps slowed as something began to feel off. Not because of a mess but because everything was too orderly.
“Maria?” I called again.
She appeared from the back, her expression hesitant when she saw me. “Yes, sir.”
I glanced at her. “Where is Mrs. Alicia?”
She hesitated for a moment before answering. “Ma’am has left, sir.”
My brows furrowed. “Left where?”
She lowered her gaze slightly. “I’m not sure. But she took all her belongings.”
There was a brief pause. Something in my chest felt strange.
I gave a small nod, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Oh.”
That was all I said.
I turned and walked toward her room without another word. My steps remained steady, unhurried. There was no reason to rush.
“This isn’t the first time Alicia has left,” I thought.
But the moment I opened her bedroom door, I knew this time was different.
The wardrobe stood open. Most of it was empty. None of the clothes I was used to seeing. No bags. No trace that she planned to return anytime soon.
I stood at the doorway longer than I should have.
Empty.
“What is this…” I muttered under my breath.
I stepped inside, my eyes catching something on the bedside table: a letter.
I picked it up without hesitation.
“Lucas,”
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
I opened it, reading every word quickly. My expression didn’t change, but the contents made it clear she had left and filed for divorce.
I exhaled softly, folding the letter again without much reaction. Then my gaze fell on the document beneath it.
A completed divorce petition, ready to be signed.
A short, flat laugh escaped me. “So this is your decision?”
No answer.
I set the document back down and sat on the edge of the bed. For a few seconds, I stayed still.
Trying to feel something.
But there was only emptiness.
“Maybe this is how it was always meant to be,” I murmured.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. This room had never felt warm, even when she was here. So why did it feel colder now?
It didn’t matter if she left. I had never stopped her.
I had never given her a reason to stay, so this wasn’t surprising.
“Nothing has changed,” I told myself quietly.
And yet, something felt out of place.
I stood again and walked to the wardrobe. The emptiness inside it felt more real than I expected.
No trace of her left.
Nothing left to ignore.
“Good that she left,” I muttered.
I shut the wardrobe a little harder than necessary.
Then I walked out, back into the living room.
Maria was still standing there, as if waiting for me to say something.
“Sir…” she called carefully.
I glanced at her. “What is it?”
She hesitated. “Ma’am said goodbye before she left.”
I gave a small nod. “And?”
“She said… thank you.”
I paused.
“Thank you?” I repeated.
Maria nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I looked away. “No need to make a big deal out of it.”
She seemed like she wanted to say more, but chose to stay silent.
I walked to the sofa and sat down as usual. My hand reached for my phone, trying to return to routine.
The screen lit up. Work notifications. Emails. Messages. Everything normal.
“Just focus on work,” I muttered.
I opened one of the emails, trying to read. But for some reason, the words didn’t register.
My thoughts kept returning to one thing.
The house was too quiet.
I set the phone down on the table and let out a long breath.
“I’m just not used to it yet,” I told myself.
I had lived alone before, so nothing should have changed. Alicia was just an addition who came and went, and now everything was back to how it used to be. It should feel lighter.
But it didn’t.
I walked back to Alicia’s room, staring at the space that now felt hollow. That was when I realized it for the first time, without denial:
She wasn’t coming back.
“…Annoying,” I muttered under my breath.
I closed the door gently, leaning against the wall for a moment as if giving myself time to stop before moving again. But only for a moment. After that, I forced myself to push away the feeling I didn’t want to acknowledge.
This wasn’t a loss.
Just change.
And I convinced myself I wouldn’t be affected by something like that.
“Why am I still thinking about this?”
I stood by the living room window, staring out at the night that looked the same as always. The city lights were on, everything moving as usual. But inside this house, something felt different.
My hand clenched in my pocket without realizing it, while my thoughts kept circling back to one thing.
Alicia was gone.
It should have been a simple fact, something I could accept just like that. But the more I tried to treat it as nothing, the more it felt like something unsettled inside me.
As if something had been left unfinished, even though everything was already over.
“This makes no sense…” I muttered.
I ran a hand over my face roughly, then returned to her room, pausing briefly at the door before opening it again. The room was the same, silent, unchanged, yet it felt different.
I stepped inside more slowly this time, looking around without knowing what I was searching for. Then, without realizing it, I sat on the side of the bed she used to occupy.
A long breath escaped me.
“She chose to leave,” I said to myself, more firmly.
As if saying it out loud would make it clearer that this wasn’t a loss. It was her choice.
And yet, something remained.
Not an object. Not a sound.
A presence.
I lowered my gaze to the floor. “I shouldn’t care,” I whispered.
And maybe that was true.
But for the first time in three years, this house felt too quiet.
And I began to realize something I had never thought about before
Maybe, without even noticing it, I had grown used to her being there.
- Writer
