The Cross Family

Silent Regret

The television played in the background, muted but relentless. Across the screen, clips of reporters and flashing banners cycled: “Smith Industries CEO Damon Smith Faces Divorce”, “Wife Walks Out, No Official Statement Released.” The same loop of grainy footage rolled again — Mya in crimson silk, suitcase at her side, the faint sound of reporters calling questions that she hadn’t answered.

Damon sat in his father’s old leather chair in the study, his tie undone, one arm draped along the armrest. He wasn’t watching the TV so much as letting it watch him. The images replayed in his head even when he closed his eyes.

His mother’s voice cut through the silence.

“Honestly,” Lorraine said, perched on the edge of the sofa, her pearls gleaming in the lamplight. “The girl has no sense of propriety. Walking out without an announcement? Leaving the staff whispering? It’s vulgar.”

Caroline laughed, sharp and mean, sprawled against the cushions like she owned them. “The networks are having a field day. You should see the comments online. Half of them say she cheated, the other half that she married you for the money. And everyone agrees she looked miserable.”

Lorraine sighed. “It reflects poorly on all of us. But at least she’s gone. She was never a fit, Damon. You must see that now.”

Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. He was tired of the voices, tired of the speculation. Still, he said nothing.

Caroline smirked and picked up the remote, unmuting the TV just in time for a reporter’s voice to echo through the room.

“Our sources confirm Mya Smith left the family home two nights ago. There was no official announcement from Smith Industries. While details remain unclear, speculation grows that the marriage has been troubled for some time.”

The camera cut to strangers on the street. A woman shrugged and said, “She never looked happy with him. Maybe she finally snapped.” Another added, “Or maybe she wasn’t good enough for that world. Happens all the time.”

Caroline muted the sound again, grinning. “See? No one’s surprised. She was always a nobody.”

Lorraine smoothed her skirt, her voice cool and approving. “Damon, this is an opportunity. You can put this entire debacle behind you. Sloane has been remarkable through all of this — poised, supportive. She is everything Mya wasn’t.”

As if on cue, the door opened.

Sloane walked in like she belonged there, her heels sinking into the thick carpet, her dress a gleaming silver that caught the lamplight. She carried herself with practiced ease, the faintest smile on her lips.

Caroline sat up straighter, eyes lighting. “Speak of the angel.”

Lorraine rose to greet her, kissing her cheek. “Darling, you’ve been such a rock for Damon. We’re lucky to have you here.”

Sloane tilted her head modestly, though her smile deepened. “He’s been through enough. I only want to support him.”

Caroline clapped her hands together. “And you look incredible while doing it.”

Damon’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Sloane, then back at the muted TV screen, where Mya’s face lingered for a moment in still frame. She wasn’t smiling. She never had, not really, in those photos. He hadn’t noticed before.

Sloane sank gracefully into the chair beside him, laying her hand on his arm. “Don’t listen to any of it,” she murmured. “The press will spin what they want. We’ll get through this together.”

Lorraine nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Together.”

Caroline grinned. “You finally have the right woman by your side.”

The room hummed with their voices, but Damon’s mind wandered.

Together. Right woman. Wrong woman.

He stared at the television until the screen blurred. When had it all gone wrong? When had Mya become… what? Invisible? Forgettable? When had he stopped seeing her at all?

He thought back to the early days, before the marriage had turned brittle. Their wedding day rose unbidden, sharp as glass.

She’d walked down the aisle in a dress that shimmered like water, her hair swept up, her eyes wide and shining. For a moment, Damon remembered not the cynicism, not the dismissals, but the ache in his chest when he saw her — so beautiful it had stolen his breath. The guests had murmured, photographers had flashed, but all he’d seen was her.

He remembered her hand slipping into his, warm and trembling. The way she whispered, “We’ll make this work, won’t we?”

And he’d believed it. He had.

The memory twisted now, souring as Sloane’s perfume wafted across the room.

He dragged his gaze from the television to the women around him. His mother, his sister, Sloane. All three watching him, waiting for his reaction, their approval heavy as chains.

Caroline broke the silence first. “Do you even miss her?” she asked with a laugh, as if the answer were obvious.

Damon didn’t reply.

Lorraine frowned. “Don’t be sentimental, Damon. Mya was a mistake. She never belonged here.”

Sloane’s hand tightened on his arm, her nails pressing just enough to ground him. “Don’t dwell on her,” she said softly. “Look at me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damon exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. For a heartbeat, Mya’s laugh — not Sloane’s — flickered in his mind. He tried to remember the last time he’d heard it. Had it been months? Years? He couldn’t pin it down.

When had he stopped trying?

When had he stopped loving her?

He opened his eyes again and found Sloane smiling at him, radiant and victorious. Lorraine and Caroline beamed their approval.

And yet, in the quiet spaces of his mind, the image that haunted him wasn’t Sloane’s triumph or his family’s satisfaction. It was Mya, standing in the crimson dress, folder in hand, her eyes steady and unflinching as she said the words he couldn’t erase: At least I won’t regret being your wife any longer.

She had looked so certain. So free.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the weight of his own choices pressing down.

Maybe Lorraine was right. Maybe Mya had never belonged. Maybe this was inevitable.

But when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t inevitability he saw. It was a bride walking toward him, radiant and trembling, believing in a future he had squandered.

Now she was gone. And all he had left were the women who applauded her absence.

Mya was no longer his. She was a memory.

And Damon wondered, with a hollow ache in his chest, whether that would be the truest loss of his life.