The House That No Longer Waited
1093 Words
Days passed.
At first, Gabriel told himself Victoria only needed space.
She had always been like that after hospital stays—quiet, withdrawn, slipping into herself as though the world demanded too much from her fragile body. He clung to that belief the way a drowning man clung to driftwood. One night. Maybe two. She would come back once the pain eased, once her emotions settled, once she remembered that this house was still hers.
But by the third day, something felt wrong.
It wasn’t the silence. Silence had always existed in their home, settling in the corners when Victoria was tired or unwell. It was the absence. Victoria’s absence carried weight. It pressed down on him from every direction, suffocating and unmistakable.
Her blanket still lay folded on the couch, the edge frayed from years of use. Her favorite mug sat untouched beside the sink, the faint outline of dried tea still visible inside. Even the bedroom felt different—too large, too cold, the air stale as if it hadn’t been breathed in days.
Gabriel barely slept.
Each morning, he woke with a sharp, instinctive hope. His hand reached out without thought, expecting warmth, expecting her familiar presence beside him. Every morning, his fingers met empty sheets.
Cold.
Untouched.
By the third night, his phone was never out of his hand.
He called her number over and over again.
The subscriber you are calling is switched off.
Again.
Switched off.
Again.
Nothing.
He sent messages he unsent and resent. Short ones. Long ones. Apologies that felt hollow even as he typed them. Reassurances that sounded convincing only to himself.
Where are you?
Please come home.
Victoria, talk to me.
Unread. All of them.
By the fourth day, panic crept in—slow and corrosive, worming its way past denial and settling deep in his chest. Gabriel drove to Aunt Mary’s house, his grip tight on the steering wheel as though holding on any looser might send him spiraling.
He rang the bell.
Once.
Twice.
No answer.
He knocked harder, his knuckles stinging.
Still nothing.
He pulled out his phone and called Mary’s number.
Not reachable.
That was when something inside him finally cracked.
Victoria would never disappear without telling Mary. Never. She trusted that woman more than she trusted anyone else in the world—more than she trusted him.
A memory surfaced unbidden: Victoria once laughing softly as she said, “If anything ever happens to me, Aunt Mary will know where to find me.”
Gabriel staggered back from the door as though struck.
His chest tightened painfully. His breathing turned shallow, uneven. He told himself he was overreacting, that he was imagining things, but the fear had already taken root.
On the fifth day, desperation pushed him to her family house again.
The place Victoria loved more than anywhere else in the world.
His thoughts raced faster than the road beneath his tires. When he finally arrived, his heart sank.
The gate was locked.
It was secured with a thick, heavy padlock that glinted coldly in the afternoon sun.
Gabriel got out of the car slowly.
“Victoria?” he called, his voice echoing back at him.
Nothing.
He moved closer to the gate, gripping the metal bars as though sheer force might open them.
“Victoria!” he shouted again, louder this time.
Only silence answered him.
His knees gave way.
He slid down against the gate, his back hitting the metal with a dull thud as the weight of reality crushed down on him. His breath hitched, his chest shaking violently.
“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please come back to me.”
He stayed there for a long time, murmuring her name into the emptiness, begging a woman who wasn’t listening anymore.
When he finally forced himself to leave, the fear had settled deep into his bones.
By the time he got home, the house felt even emptier than before.
That was when he called Prisca.
The phone rang twice before she answered.
“Gabriel?” Her voice was soft, cautious, perfectly measured. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” he said bluntly. “Victoria is gone.”
There was a pause.
Too brief. Too controlled.
“Gone?” Prisca echoed, carefully. “What do you mean, gone?”
“She hasn’t come home,” he said, pacing the living room. “Her phone is off. Mary’s phone isn’t connecting. I went to her family house—it’s locked. I can’t find her anywhere.”
On the other end of the line, Prisca’s heart leapt.
Victoria was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
A rush of triumph surged through her, so strong she had to bite down hard to keep from laughing out loud. Her fingers curled tightly around her phone as she fought to keep her voice steady.
“She… she probably just needs time,” Prisca said gently. “Victoria loves you, Gabriel. You know that. She’s always been emotional.”
“I don’t know anymore,” he admitted, his voice low. “Something feels different this time.”
Prisca swallowed her excitement and leaned fully into the role.
“You’re overthinking,” she soothed. “She’s sick. She’s been through a lot. She’ll come back once she calms down.”
Gabriel stopped pacing.
“I hope you’re right,” he said. “But this… this doesn’t feel like before.”
After he hung up, Prisca stared at her phone.
Then she laughed.
A soft laugh at first. Then louder. Freer.
Her shoulders shook as exhilaration flooded her veins.
So it had worked.
The messages. The photos. The truth she had finally shoved in Victoria’s face without mercy.
Prisca remembered the moment clearly—how her fingers had hovered over the send button, how she had smiled as she pressed it.
Gabriel loves us.
You’re the obstacle.
You don’t belong here.
She had wanted Victoria to get hurt. To break. And to leave.
And she had.
Prisca poured herself a glass of wine and raised it in the air.
“To finally winning,” she murmured.
Back in the empty house, Gabriel stood in the middle of the living room, phone dangling uselessly in his hand.
For the first time since Victoria had disappeared, a terrifying thought crossed his mind.
What if she wasn’t coming back?
He looked around at the life she had quietly dismantled—piece by piece—before he even realized it was happening.
And somewhere far away, Victoria was already gone, carrying secrets he had yet to uncover.
- Writer
