His Regret-The Wife He Broke and Lost

Chapter 5 - The Questions that wouldn't Stay Quite

I didn’t go to the address.

Not that day, not the next, not even the day after that. I told myself it was the only sensible decision.

People didn’t just appear out of nowhere and start talking about stolen identities and missing memories. They didn’t watch you. They didn’t know things they shouldn’t. They didn’t speak like your entire life was something they could dismantle piece by piece with a few sentences.

Normal people didn’t do that.

And I needed—no, I wanted to believe I was still living a normal life so I ignored the message and tried to move on.

But silence has a way of changing when you stop paying attention to it.

Morning came quietly through the thin curtains of my apartment, spilling pale light across the room. I sat at the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at nothing. My body was still, but my mind wasn’t.

The apartment still didn’t feel like mine. It was clean, quiet, functional but it lacked something I couldn’t name. Or maybe it was me who was missing from it.

That thought made something uncomfortable shift inside me, so I pushed it away. The silence here wasn’t heavy like before. It didn’t press against my chest or demand anything from me. But it also didn’t comfort me. It simply existed and somehow, that felt worse.

My gaze drifted to the small table near the window where my phone lay face down still dark. For a moment, I considered checking it. Just to be sure nothing had changed overnight. Just to confirm I hadn’t imagined those messages.

But I didn’t move. Because I already knew, if I looked again, I wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore so I forced myself up.

Routine helps when everything else feels uncertain. That’s what I told myself. I went into the kitchen, boiled water, and made tea. The sound of the kettle, the rising steam grounded me in a way my thoughts couldn’t.

I wrapped my hands around the mug and let the warmth seep into my skin.

This is real, I told myself. This moment, this room, this life, not the message.Not the voice behind it. Not whatever was trying to pull me backward.

I took a slow breath.No more waiting, no more looking back. But even as I thought it, something inside me didn’t fully agree.

Then my phone buzzed.

I froze.

The sound wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silence like something deliberate.

Slowly, I turned.

The screen lit up on its own.No name, no number, just a notification.

My chest tightened.

I set the mug down carefully before walking over. My fingers hovered above the phone before I picked it up. The message was already there.

“You didn’t come.”

My throat went dry. For a moment, I just stared at it. I told myself it was a prank. A mistake. Something meaningless.

But my heartbeat didn’t believe that lie.

“I told you to stop,” I whispered, though no one was there to hear me.

My fingers moved before I could think.

“Stop contacting me.”

I stared at the screen for a second longer. Then I pressed send it

Delivered instantly.No delay, no hesitation. Which meant, whoever it was… was still there watching and waiting

A strange unease settled under my skin. Not quite fear. Something sharper. Something more invasive.

I placed the phone down as if distance could undo what had already been done.

Then I left the apartment.

I needed air, movement, and noise. Anything to drown out the tension building inside me.

The streets were already alive. People moving in every direction, voices blending into a constant sound, cars honking, vendors calling out prices. Everything felt normal.

Like nothing strange had ever happened anywhere in the world. I walked without direction, letting my steps carry me. I focused on the rhythm of movement—step after step—as if repetition could quiet my thoughts. It almost worked.

Until I heard my name.

“Lucy?”

I stopped.

That voice wasn’t loud, but it reached me instantly. Familiar in a way that tightened something in my chest.

Then I turned slowly and I saw

Mrs. Davenport. Adams’ mother.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe properly.

“Mrs. Cole,” I corrected automatically, though even that name felt unfamiliar now. She smiled politely, but her eyes stayed sharp and assessing.

“I heard about the divorce,” she said.

I nodded once.

“Yes.” No explanation, no apology. Nothing else is needed. Her gaze lingered on me.

“I didn’t expect you to leave so quietly.”

There it was. That subtle judgment beneath the calm tone. As if leaving had required permission I hadn’t asked for.

“I didn’t see a reason to make it difficult,” I said evenly. She hummed softly, like she was evaluating my answer.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

There was a pause.

Then she added, almost casually, “You could have tried harder.” The words landed exactly where they were meant to. Once, I would have reacted, defended myself until my voice broke trying to make someone understand but not anymore.

Now, I just looked at her and stayed silent. Because I didn’t feel the need to prove anything. Her expression shifted slightly, as my silence unsettled her more than words would have.

“Well,” she said after a moment, smoothing her tone again, “what’s done is done.” Then her gaze softened but only slightly.

“Adams is doing well.”

My fingers curled at my sides before I could stop them. There it was. The reminder. The life that continued without me. The version of things I used to belong to but no longer do. I expected pain. But it didn’t come the way it used to.

“I’m glad,” I replied to her

And I meant it.

Mrs. Davenport studied me for a moment longer, as if trying to find something familiar in me that wasn’t there anymore. Then she nodded once.

“Take care of yourself, Lucy.”

“I will.”

And just like that, she walked away.No confrontation, no closure just distance.

By the time I returned home, the sky was turning orange. Evening light spilled across my apartment floor as I closed the door behind me and locked it. The sound felt final. Like sealing something off.

I leaned against the door for a moment, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it felt heavier. Like it wasn’t empty anymore. Like something had followed me back.

My eyes drifted to the table.

My phone was still there and waiting. I hesitated then walked over and picked it up.

The screen lit instantly,it was another message. My stomach tightened as I opened it and a photo appeared. It's faded at the edges.

A little girl stood in a garden. Maybe seven years old. Smiling like nothing in the world had ever touched her.

My breath caught.

Because I knew that face. Even though it felt far away. Even though it didn’t feel like mine, it was.

Below the image, text appeared.

“This was you.”

My hands trembled slightly and another message followed.

“Before they changed everything.”

My vision blurred at the edges. “No…” I whispered. But I didn’t even know what I was denying.

Then the final message appeared.

“You can keep ignoring this…”There was a pause.

It was waiting for me.

“Or you can find out why your life doesn’t belong to you.”

My heartbeat slowed; not in relief, but in realization. Something inside me had stopped resisting. I stared at the address that followed.

My grip tightened around the phone.

And I understood something I didn’t want to admit. Walking away from Adams had been painful. But walking away from this truth; was no longer something I could do.

Not anymore.