The Wife He Forgot to Love Chapter 04
His voice was firm, tinged with desperation.
“Eve, I know I screwed up.”
“The anniversary–we’ll redo it.”
“Just give me one more chance. I promise.”
“Promise what?” I asked, holding his gaze.
“Promise you’ll never see Vivian again? Promise you’ll stay out of her life? Ethan, you can’t do that.”
He fell silent, his lips pressed tight.
See? He couldn’t even lie to me, his hesitation was so obvious.
Right then, his phone buzzed at the worst possible time.
The screen showed Viv’s name, flashing insistently.
He glanced at it. He didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t reject the call either.
That incessant buzzing felt like a constant reminder of the presence I couldn’t ignore, couldn’t overcome.
I closed my eyes, feeling my last ounce of strength drain away.
“Just go,” I said. “I’m tired.”
“Eve.”
“Get out.”
My voice was soft, but carried a weariness that brooked no argument.
“Okay. I’ll be right outside.”
He stood there frozen for a few seconds, then finally picked up his phone and walked out of the room with
heavy steps.
The door clicked shut.
I curled up, buried my face in the pillow, and finally let the tears flow silently, soaking the fabric
For the child I never got to meet.
And for the five years of this marriage I’d fooled myself into believing in.
The afternoon after my surgery, there was a knock at the door.
I thought it was a nurse, but looked up to see Irene Hartwell–Ethan’s sister.
She carried a bouquet of white roses and a bag of fruit, her expression more complicated than I’d expected
“Hey,” she hovered at the door, hesitant. “Can I come in?”
I nodded.
She placed the flowers in the empty vase on the nightstand, her movements gentle, as if trying not to make a
sound.
She settled into the chair and was quiet for a moment.
“My brother called and told me,” she said.
I didn’t respond.
“He said it with a shaky voice. I’ve never heard him sound like that.”
She looked at me with neither blame nor urgency in her eyes–just a kind of weary sympathy.
“Evelyn, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“I’m not here to ask why on his behalf, or to beg for his forgiveness.”
She paused.
“I just wanted to tell you–I found all his old soccer stuff at home.”
“Training logs, tactical notebooks, youth camp player cards.”
“He never threw any of it away. But he never pulled it out either.”
“I don’t know if that counts as some kind of… warning. But back then, I thought if anyone was going to marry him, she should know.”
I looked at her, and for the first time, I felt like someone was thinking about me, not him.
“Thank you,” I said. “Irene.”
She stood up, paused at the door, and looked back at me:
“Whatever you decide, I’m on your side.”
After she left, I looked at the white roses on the nightstand and felt like something that had been lodged in
my throat for a long time had finally loosened.
