ELEANOR—
- As I lay on the bed, enveloped in my husband's warmth, I nestle my back deeply into his arms, feeling his gentle grip on my waist as he pulls me closer. Soft, tender kisses dance across my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The blood-boiling sex we shared still resonates, the lingering sensations on my skin and between my legs a reminder of our loving encounter. His arms around me tighten more and his lips press on the bane of my shoulder igniting more warmth in my body. His lips move to my neck where he kisses me passionately and excitedly and then moves to my cheeks where he places the last few kisses before letting his mouth leave me. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to melt into Arthur and absorb his entirety. Surprisingly this time his touch feels more intimate than before, more secure, and more enthusiastic. It’s not unlike Arthur to touch me or kiss me, but tonight just feels different— different in a way that keeps me satisfied and pleasure-filled. I can feel love from his fingertips. The way his hand remains firm on my waist like a perfect puzzle piece that needs to perfect my body. I lean into him and he collects me even more. The room is silent with only our heavy breathing entertaining the night. I love this feeling, this moment. Our marriage isn’t one for the books, one look at us and a person can tell how distant we are as a married couple. But tonight, I feel like tonight changed things. I can’t explain it in literal meaning but the way Arthur touched me. I’m so glad we’ve become that loving couple I’ve always wanted us to be. To be in our matrimonial home and feel as though we are one. I feel Arthur’s breathing on my neck before he softly calls my name. His thick voice vibrates in his chest. “El,” he calls. He calls me El short for Eleanor and I think it’s the most lovely word I’ve ever heard in my entire life. “Hmm?” I reply gently, matching his tone. I listen to him breathe out another exhausted sigh. “Let’s get a divorce” Arthur adds softly and I pause. I did not hear wrong. “What?” I hear myself asking. My throat starts to feel clogged. “I don’t— I don’t understand” I swallow. “Brianna is back in Manhattan and I think it’s for the best. I am presently preparing the papers.” Brianna? Her name rings a thousand bells but I don’t need a divine entity to tell me she’s the woman she actually wants and not me. I hate how soft his voice is, I hate how coated and calm he’s sounding when he’s brewing such a storm in my ears like this. No one is supposed to sound casual filing for a divorce. A divorce. After all, we just had? I don’t speak— it’s not that I don’t know what to say, I do, But my voice feels like it’s frozen and it’s being stung by thousands of bees. His hands around my waist shift to sit there properly and I realize we’re both naked, in each others’ hands and he is propelling a divorce. What did I expect? I should have seen this coming—No, I did see it coming! Our marriage is like many others - built on respect and a harmonious home life. Though with less intimacy. And I couldn't forget, that this union was a transaction, an arrangement born of circumstance rather than love. I have to remember my position in this carefully constructed life. I shouldn’t get pierced by a divorce I saw coming. I just thought he’d love me enough one day. I have been stupid! What we had was a marriage of convenience, You get what you see and leave. Four years ago while my life was at a crossroads, fate brought an unexpected opportunity to my doorstep: marriage to Arthur Newton. At the time, Arthur was fighting a debilitating battle with severe skin ulceration, a cruel consequence of a malicious act by a business rival who had secretly laced his drink with a harmful substance. The Newtons' reputation had suffered greatly due to Arthur's illness, and his family was willing to pay a hefty price to anyone who would agree to marry him. I knew at the back of my mind that one day we would come to an end and our marriage was only based on materialistic yearning. I’ll never be close to what Arthur had with Brianna, even as his wife, even after four years of being married and being free of his skin illness. Was loving each other only from my end then? I didn’t imagine this, right? I cannot deny my sudden broken heart— shattered even. But this was all for business. I release Arthur’s hand from my waist and get on my feet, pulling the bed’s duvet to cover my naked body. “Alright then” I nod, trying to sound normal. “I’ll await the divorce papers” Arthur’s expression goes stoic. “Where are you going?” He looks at me as if I’m committing a crime but his voice remains careful and warm. “I think I should leave, It will be— “It’s already late, stay for the night, you can leave tomorrow” he adjusts his broad body on the bed, his voice polite and gentle. I nod and avoid eye contact. Gently, I lay back on the bed and try to push the lump in my throat but it’s not working. Arthur turns around with his back facing me and I let my lips quiver. He switches off the night table light and my eyes start to sting in the room’s darkness. We’re both quiet and I try my best not to let my breathing sound haggard. I think Arthur is asleep but I’m proved wrong when he starts to speak. “Eleanor?” His voice is almost like a whisper that I almost didn’t catch. “Yes?” I turn to face his back in the darkness. “Who is Leon?” He asks. I stop breathing. How did he know about Leon? Trying to process my words, my mind, and why and how he knows about a person who seems like a figment of time in my life, clogs my throat, and before I can reply Arthur speaks up. His voice starts to come out solemn and low. “Well, I’m sorry for taking up four years of your life, I hope you will be happy in the future. Goodnight Eleanor,” ——ELEANOR -“Leon?”The name leaves Arthur’s mouth like a stone dropped into water, sending ripples across a surface I’ve tried so hard to keep still.I freeze.It takes a full second before my brain catches up to what he just said.Leon.My chest tightens. I stare at him, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.That name hasn’t been spoken aloud in years. Not here. Not in this room. Not by Arthur. Especially not by Arthur.I blink, trying to compose myself, but I know he sees the flicker of panic that crosses my face.He must.“No,” I say quickly, sharper than I intend. “That’s impossible. It couldn’t have been Leon.”Arthur’s brows pull together slightly, like he’s trying to gauge whether I’m denying the possibility or protecting it. But I don’t give him a chance to ask. I shift my weight, forcing the bedsheets back around me and turning my head away.“I’m full,” I say quietly, voice taut. “You can go now.”He doesn’t move.Of course he doesn’t.Arthur stays seated, shoulders te
—ELEANOR —I let Arthur feed me in silence, spoonful after careful spoonful.My pride lies somewhere under the covers, bruised and battered, but right now, eating matters more than dignity.Still, no matter how tender he acts, no matter how gentle his touch, a coil of anger stays tight in my chest.After a while, he sets the spoon down, wiping the corner of my mouth with a napkin as if I’m something precious. Something he didn’t walk out on— twice.My fingers twitch.I turn my face slightly away.He hesitates — and then, almost cautiously, he says my name, “El”It’s seriously unfair when he calls me by the nickname he gave me when he knows we’re nothing more.“About earlier… about Brianna…”His voice is low, almost strained, like he’s walking on glass. “I didn’t want you to misunderstand. Mrs. Brown called me. She said Brianna was hurt — her hand. I had no choice but to go.”I stiffen.Just like that, the breath stills in my lungs.He knows I’m angry.He can tell.Of course he should
—ELEANOR-I stir awake to a warm sensation lingering on my forehead.It’s faint, like a memory.Soft lips, a fleeting kiss.Arthur.My eyes flutter open, but the room is empty.The ache in my wrist throbs in time with my pulse, sharp and accusing.I glance toward the door, half-expecting him to walk in — but there’s only the faint rustle of the carer tidying the bedside table.“Where’s Arthur?” I ask, my voice rough from sleep.The woman glances up, folding a cloth neatly. “Mr. Arthur left early this morning,” she says politely. “Something urgent came up. A woman named Brianna. It seemed serious.”Brianna.The name slices through the haze of sleep sharper than any blade.Of course.Of course it would be her.A hollow, miserable feeling lodges itself in my chest.I push the covers back roughly, as if getting out of bed could somehow shake it off.My stomach twists with hunger and resentment — an ugly, restless mix.“I’m hungry,” I mutter. “Could you help me get some breakfast?”The ca
—ARTHUR--I sit by Eleanor’s bed, watching her face closely as she sleeps.She fell asleep right close to me when I was almost done wiping her.It must have been very soothing, for her to just fall asleep right away.Her brow furrows, lips pressed tightly together — she’s restless, even in her unconscious state.I wish I could take away the tension in her face, the pain that seems to cling to her even when she’s not awake. But I can’t.I never could.I reach out, my fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead, my touch light, almost hesitant. Her skin is warm, too warm, and the sensation sends a shock through me.I shouldn’t feel this way.But I do.Leaning down, I press a kiss to her forehead, so soft, so fleeting that it’s barely there. A silent apology. A whispered prayer for something I’ll never get.I wish I could hold her like this, make everything right again.But I know better.She doesn’t see me. She sees someone else.She shifts slightly, her lips parting as th
—ELEANOR.-The ceiling above me is blank and cold.I lie there, my wrist throbbing in a rhythm that matches the ache in my chest. The smell of sterile ointments clings to me — sharp, bitter, suffocating.It’s been hours, but I still can’t sleep.I can’t even close my eyes. The pain is hard to bear.I shift slightly, and the pain flares hot and sharp down my arm. A broken sound crawls up my throat, but I bite it back. I won’t cry. I’ve already cried enough — when no one was here to see it.The door clicks softly.I freeze, pretending to sleep, even as every part of me sharpens with awareness.I know who it is.Arthur.His presence fills the room the way smoke does — heavy, unwelcome, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.I hear the slow drag of his footsteps, then the stop. He’s standing by the bed now, staring down at me.“You’re still awake,” he says, voice low, almost careful.I say nothing. What could I possibly say to him? That I hate him? That I hate myself more for wanting him to
—ARTHUR.-“Would you like to ask Ms. Brianna Brown about what happened?” Liam asks, his voice cutting through my thoughts like a dull knife.Ask Brianna?I scoff without thinking. The sound comes out sharp and automatic, laced with disbelief.There’s no point. I know her. She’ll lie. She’ll twist her words into something that sounds believable, maybe even sympathetic, but it won’t be the truth. I can already see the tilt of her head, the innocent eyes, the careful pause before she spins the narrative.“I don’t need her version,” I say coldly. “Send me the surveillance file.”Liam nods and steps away. Moments later, a soft buzz pings my phone. The file arrives, waiting. I tap the screen, thumb hovering over the play buttonThe heavy double doors at the end burst open.Eleanor.She’s wheeled out of the operating room, her body unnaturally still against the stark white of the sheets. Her skin is pale—more than usual—and the dark circles under her eyes make her look bruised, hollow. Her
ARTHUR’s POV — I wake up, the sterile smell of the hospital room filling my nostrils. My head feels heavy, and I can barely focus. My vision clears, and I realize I’m not in my own bed. I’m in Brianna’s hospital room. How and when the hell did I end up here? I try to piece things together. The last thing I remember is Brianna telling me about the aromatherapy on her bedside table. She said it would help me relieve stress. But it’s aromatherapy, I must’ve dozed off from it—damn it. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here, I promised Eleanor I’d be back. I glance around the room, my mind still foggy, like I’ve woken from someone else’s dream. The sheets are tangled around my legs, the faint scent of Brianna’s perfume clinging to the air like guilt. I blink hard, trying to shake the haze. There, on the bedside table, a neatly folded note rests. I pick it up. My name is scrawled on the front in rushed, looping handwriting. —Gone out to buy clothes. Be back soon — Brianna
ELEANOR’s POV-—I shouldn’t have let myself slip again.The realization settles like a heavy stone in my stomach, cold and unforgiving. Arthur had abandoned me long ago, and tonight’s fleeting intimacy was nothing more than a product of his desire—a moment of weakness on my part, a mistake. I shouldn’t have let myself be fooled by this false sweetness, shouldn’t have let my heart tangle itself in the illusion that it meant something.The kisses, the touches— I drown them I bite the inside of my cheek as I pull out the photo from his wallet again, my fingers trembling slightly. The wedding picture of us stares back at me, mocking me with the innocence we once had. I bury my hope, finally.I exhale sharply and slide the wallet back into his coat. I stare at the coat, with bitterness, like it’s a person and it has done me wrong.I don’t care. I don’t care if he comes home tonight or not. I’ll enjoy the tomato soup I prepared and have a good night's sleep.And Tomorrow, I’ll return
–ELEANOR-I can’t ignore the sadness gnawing at my gut or the tinge of self-loathing for giving in to Arthur’s kiss.At the mere mention of Brianna, he’s already leaving.It's not the first but it feels worse this time because we were in the middle of something intimate, something we didn't let ourselves fully explore in our marital years. It hurts and it sucks so bad."I'll be back soon." Arthur's voice is softer than usual, almost hesitant. The words linger in the air between us, and despite my efforts to ignore them, I'm forced to look at him."Wait for me." His eyes search mine, the plea in them unmistakable, but his tone carries the weight of an order.I don’t reply. Instead, I slip on my mask of nonchalance, the same one I always wear. It’s easier that way. If I let my guard down now, I might say something I’ll regret later.“Brianna has been admitted to the hospital. It’s an emergency,” he starts to explain himself “I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll wrap it up as soon as