Chapter three

Chapter three

Liam came home early on Thursday, which was unusual enough to make the housekeeper look twice at the clock.

I was in the kitchen, pouring water into a glass. He entered, loosened his tie and glanced at the dining table.

“Where is dinner?”

“The staff are preparing it.”

He looked at me. “You used to make sure it was ready when I arrived.”

“I used to do many things.”

His brows drew together. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

I carried my glass upstairs. I could feel his gaze following me, but I did not turn around. In the past, I would have explained my tone, softened my words and tried to prevent an argument. Now I was beginning to understand how exhausting it was to manage another person's comfort while ignoring my own.

At seven, Liam received a call. I heard Scarlett's name before he lowered his voice.

“What's wrong?” he asked. A pause followed. “Don't worry. I'll come.”

He ended the call and reached for his keys.

“Are you going out?” I asked.

“Scarlett needs me.”

“Of course.”

He stopped. “What does that mean?”

“It means I heard you.”

“She isn't feeling well. Her brother is out of town.”

“You don't need to explain.”

“I shouldn't have to explain every time I help someone.”

I almost told him that he had never explained the countless times he had chosen her over me. Instead, I returned to the book in my lap.

Liam waited, perhaps expecting me to ask him to stay. When I did not, he left.

An hour later, I went downstairs to look for a document connected to the house. Liam's study door was slightly open. I had rarely entered that room because he disliked anyone touching his papers. The document I needed was not there, but a framed photograph on the side table caught my attention.

Liam and Scarlett stood together on a beach. He was laughing, one arm around her shoulders. It was an old photograph, judging by the date printed at the bottom. I had seen pictures of them before, but never displayed so openly.

A drawer beneath the table had been left unlocked. I opened it only because I was looking for the house document. Inside lay a small velvet box, several old cards and a collection of photographs. There were restaurant receipts and invoices for gifts. Some were recent.

I did not need to touch the papers to recognise Scarlett's name.

A payment record showed that Liam had continued covering expenses for an apartment she had used after returning to Chicago. Another document related to a private medical arrangement. I took out my phone and photographed the visible records without removing them from the drawer.

Then I stopped.

I had no intention of becoming the kind of person who searched every corner of her husband's life. I only needed to preserve information that might be relevant to the divorce. I closed the drawer and left the study as I had found it.

Upstairs, I sent the photographs to Ethan with a short explanation. He replied that he would review them and advise me on what could properly be used.

When I entered the bedroom, I noticed the wedding bracelet Liam had given me on our first anniversary. It lay beside my jewellery box. I had taken it off days earlier.

I wondered whether he would notice.

He did.

Liam returned close to midnight. He entered the bedroom while I was reading and glanced at my wrist.

“Where is your bracelet?”

“In the jewellery box.”

“Why aren't you wearing it?”

“I don't feel like it.”

He removed his watch and placed it on the dresser. “You've been strange since the funeral.”

“My father died.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

His head lifted. For a second, the room went quiet.

“Isabella, I have apologised for not being there.”

“You haven't.”

“I said we would talk.”

“You said I was making a scene.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I had a difficult situation to handle. Scarlett needed help.”

“And my father needed treatment.”

“We have discussed this.”

“No. You explained your decision. I heard you.”

He looked at me as though he could not understand why the conversation had not ended. “You cannot keep bringing up the same thing.”

“I won't.”

I turned a page. He watched me for a moment, then went into the bathroom.

The next morning, Ethan called.

“I've reviewed the material,” he said. “Keep the originals where they are. The photographs may help establish certain financial arrangements, but I need more context before advising you.”

“I understand.”

“Has your husband been informed that you intend to file?”

“I told him I wanted a divorce. He refused to believe me.”

“Then let us proceed carefully.”

After the call, I went to the window. Liam's car was already gone. I watched the gates close behind it.

Once, I would have wondered whether he had eaten breakfast. Whether he had remembered his documents. Whether I should call and remind him about his afternoon meeting.

I did not wonder anymore.

I picked up my sketchbook and began drawing the shape of the morning light.

After Liam went to sleep, I opened the small notebook where I had once written down our anniversary plans. The first page held a list of restaurants he liked, followed by reminders about his meetings, his preferred coffee and the names of clients I was expected to remember. I flipped through several pages before reaching the last entry. It was dated almost a year earlier: “Ask Liam if he wants to take a weekend away.“ There was no answer written beside it. I could not remember whether I had ever asked. Perhaps I had known what he would say.

The next morning, I moved through the house without rushing. I ate breakfast, packed my sketchbook and left a note for the housekeeper about a delivery. Nobody asked where I was going. Liam's schedule had always been the centre of the household, and the staff were accustomed to arranging everything around him. I wondered what would happen when I was no longer there to soften his moods or remember the small things he forgot. Then I realised that it was not my responsibility to prepare him for a life without me.