Rejected billionaire heiress

Chapter 6 Something Was Missing

Amelia’s PoV

The next morning, I woke before everyone else.

Again.

For a few seconds, I lay still, staring at the ceiling.

Then I remembered.

The day before yesterday.

Then yesterday.

Miranda.

The hospital.

Susan.

My blood.

My husband’s empty chair.

The one-word text.

Miranda’s taunting when she came back.

I closed my eyes.

Get up.

My body didn’t want to.

For the first time, neither did my heart.

Usually, the thought of everything waiting downstairs was enough to force me out of bed.

Breakfast.

Cleaning.

Laundry.

Lisa.

Harold.

Susan.

Miranda.

But that morning, I stayed where I was.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Nobody came looking for me.

That surprised me.

Eventually, I got up.

Not because Susan called.

Not because someone demanded it.

Because I wanted to know what would happen if I moved at my own pace.

It felt strange.

Almost wrong.

⸻

When I reached the kitchen, Paul was already there.

He looked at me and smiled.

“You slept late.”

I glanced at the clock.

“Seven thirty.”

“Exactly.”

I smiled.

“I don’t think that’s late.”

“Not for normal people.”

I laughed softly.

Then I noticed something on the counter.

Breakfast.

My eyes narrowed.

“Paul…”

“Don’t.”

He pointed toward the chair.

“Sit.”

I sat.

He placed a plate in front of me.

For once, I ate without worrying about who might walk in.

I was halfway through my breakfast when Lisa entered.

She stopped.

“You haven’t made mine?”

I swallowed.

“Not yet.”

She looked at the clock.

“It’s almost eight.”

“I know.”

She stared at me.

“You know I have somewhere to be.”

“So do I.”

The words slipped out.

Silence.

I froze.

Lisa stared at me as though I had spoken another language.

Paul turned away.

I wasn’t sure whether he was hiding a smile.

Lisa’s face hardened.

“You’ve become very bold.”

I looked down at my plate.

Maybe I had.

Or maybe I was simply tired of being afraid.

⸻

The rest of the morning was the same.

Lisa demanded.

Harold complained.

Susan criticized.

And I worked.

But something had changed.

Not them.

Me.

Their words didn’t hurt quite as deeply.

I had spent so much time trying to prove that I deserved to be here.

That I was a good wife.

A good daughter-in-law.

A good person.

I was beginning to realize I didn’t need their approval.

At lunchtime, Susan found me in the hallway.

“Amelia.”

I turned.

“Yes?”

“Miranda is still resting. You need to make her lunch.”

“I will.”

“And make sure it’s something she can eat.”

“Of course.”

Susan studied me.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I blinked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem different.”

I smiled politely.

“I’m just tired.”

She frowned.

Then walked away.

I watched her.

For the first time, I wondered whether she could feel it.

The change.

The small distance forming between me and this house.

⸻

That evening, Cole came home.

I was in the kitchen when I heard the front door.

His voice carried through the house.

“Paul.”

“Good evening, Mr. Edwards.”

“Where’s Amelia?”

My hand stopped.

Paul looked toward the kitchen.

“She’s upstairs.”

Cole frowned.

“Doing what?”

“Resting.”

There was silence.

“She’s resting?”

I could almost hear the disbelief in his voice.

Paul didn’t answer.

Cole walked upstairs.

A few minutes later, he entered our bedroom.

I was sitting by the window.

He looked at me.

“You weren’t downstairs.”

“No.”

“Why?”

I turned toward him.

“I was tired.”

He studied my face.

“Are you still unwell?”

“No.”

He hesitated.

“I thought I would find you sitting with the others.”

The question hurt more than it should have.

When had he ever seen me sitting with the others?

Sometimes, I wondered if this man was blind.

I looked at him.

“Because I’m tired, Cole.”

He said nothing.

I turned back toward the window.

After a moment, he walked into the bathroom.

I heard the shower running.

Then silence.

Later, he came to bed.

Usually, I would wait until he fell asleep.

Usually, I would watch him quietly.

Wondering what he was thinking.

Wondering if he ever looked at me and saw more than the woman who cooked his meals and kept his house clean.

That night, I turned away from him.

I didn’t look.

I didn’t wonder.

I simply closed my eyes.

And for some reason, that seemed to bother him.

⸻

Cole’s pov

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

I didn’t understand why.

Nothing had changed.

The house was clean.

Dinner had been prepared.

Everything was where it belonged.

Yet something felt wrong.

I looked toward the kitchen.

Usually, Amelia would be there.

She would ask whether I wanted coffee.

She would tell me what she had prepared for dinner.

She would quietly remind me that I had forgotten something.

I had never thought about how often she did those things.

That was why the today felt off.

I looked toward the staircase.

The house had been quieter than usual.

Not that Amelia had ever been particularly talkative.

But she was not where she usually was.

I couldn’t explain why that bothered me.

I sat down on the sofa.

Paul brought me coffee.

“Where’s Amelia?”

“She’s resting.”

Again.

Something about that answer irritated me.

“Is she angry with me?”

Paul looked at me.

“No, sir.”

The answer came too quickly.

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Paul simply walked away.

I stared after him.

For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about Amelia.

Why wasn’t she waiting for me?

It bothered me more than it should have.

⸻

Amelia’s pov

I woke sometime after midnight.

Cole was asleep beside me.

I looked at him.

The man I had loved from the moment I saw him.

The man I had married knowing he didn’t love me.

I wondered how much longer I could keep pretending that was enough.

I reached for my phone.

The news article from yesterday was still open.

My family.

My home.

My old life.

I stared at my father’s photograph.

Then my mother’s.

Then my brother’s.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

I whispered the words I had been too afraid to say.

“I miss you.”

The room remained silent.

I looked at Cole one last time.

Then I turned away.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.

Maybe I had confused enduring pain with proving love.

And maybe…

going home didn’t mean I had failed.

Maybe it meant I had finally stopped failing myself.

I closed my eyes.

For the first time, the thought of leaving didn’t feel impossible.

It felt like freedom.