4. Doubt

Elijah

The door closes behind Scarlett with a sound that echoes far longer than it should.

I stay seated.

I don’t know why. The chair feels heavier than it did minutes ago, like standing would require admitting something I’m not ready to face. The room smells faintly of her perfume—soft, familiar—and it irritates me more than it should.

“She always had a flair for dramatics,” my mother says, breaking the silence. “Running off like that.”

I don’t respond.

Across the table, Elise crosses her legs gracefully and gathers her purse, her movements calm, composed. She doesn’t rush. She never does. Everything about her is intentional.

“Well,” she says lightly, “that went… better than I expected.”

I finally look at her.

She’s smiling—not cruelly, not openly triumphant—but there’s something satisfied in the curve of her lips. Like a woman who has just stepped into shoes she knows fit perfectly.

Alice laughs. “You handled yourself beautifully, dear. So poised. So dignified. Unlike—” She waves her hand dismissively toward the door Scarlett just walked through. “—all that unnecessary emotion.”

Elise places a gentle hand over mine.

The contact is warm, grounding. Reassuring.

“You did the right thing,” she says softly. “Ending it cleanly. Lingering only makes things messier.”

I nod, though something in my chest tightens.

Right thing.

That’s what this is supposed to feel like.

The lawyer excuses himself, muttering something about final copies. When the door shuts, it’s just the three of us.

My mother beams. “I can finally breathe,” she says. “I knew the moment you married her that she would be a mistake. Three years, Elijah. Three years wasted.”

I flinch.

“She tried,” I say automatically.

Alice scoffs. “Trying isn’t enough. A woman’s duty is to add to her husband’s life, not drain it. She brought nothing but embarrassment.”

Elise squeezes my hand slightly, as if to calm me.

“I don’t think Scarlett was malicious,” she says gently. “Just… misplaced. Some people don’t belong in certain worlds.”

Her words are smooth. Careful. Reasonable.

As usual. Same old Elise.

I nod again.

This is why Elise works. She never raises her voice. Never demands. She simply frames things in ways that make disagreement feel irrational.

We leave the building together.

Outside, the city hums with life—cars passing, people laughing, the world moving forward without hesitation. Scarlett is already gone.

Something stings in my chest, I chalk it up to the harsh cold accompanied by the wind. I ignore and push it down.

Good.

This is cleaner.

Elise links her arm through mine as we walk to the car. “You must be exhausted,” she murmurs. “Emotional things take more out of you than meetings ever do.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

She tilts her head, studying me. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

That lands harder than I expect.

My mother climbs into the back seat, already on her phone, undoubtedly spreading news she’s waited years to share.

As I drive, Elise talks about dinner plans, about a charity event next week, about how the board will respond favorably now that distractions are handled.

Handled.

I grip the steering wheel tighter.

At a red light, my mind betrays me.

Scarlett’s face flashes behind my eyes—not crying, not pleading, just… still. Controlled. That quiet strength I once admired now feels like accusation.

I shake it off.

This is nostalgia. Habit. Nothing more.

By the time I drop my mum at her house, she’s in high spirits.

“You’ll see,” she tells me, leaning forward between the seats. “Everything will fall into place now. Elise is exactly the kind of woman you need.”

She kisses my cheek before leaving.

Elise stays quiet until we pull into my driveway.

My house.

Not ours anymore.

Inside, the silence is oppressive. Scarlett’s absence is everywhere—in the empty shoe rack, the untouched mug by the sink, the faint indentation on the couch where she always sat.

Elise sets her purse down on the couch. The exact spot I was just looking at. I almost tell her to place it anywhere but I hold myself. I look around and fine Elise already moving and walks around, surveying the space.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Though I’d change a few things. Make it warmer. More… alive.”

Already? I think to myself.

I don’t answer.

She turns to me. “You’re quieter than usual.”

“I’m just tired.” I mutter tiredly.

She steps closer, her fingers smoothing my tie. “You’ve been carrying a lot. You don’t need to anymore.”

Her lips brush mine—soft, claiming.

I kiss her back. Even thought it feels different.

I should feel relief.

Instead, there’s a hollow thud in my chest, like something has been dislodged and left empty.

Later, after Elise falls asleep beside me, I lie awake staring at the ceiling.

I try not to replay the image of Scarlett and that man in our bed.

The room feels unfamiliar without Scarlett’s quiet breathing, without the way she always curled slightly toward me in her sleep like gravity pulled her in.

I tell myself it’s habit.

Nothing more.

But when I close my eyes, I see her walking away from that conference room—head high, shoulders squared, dignity intact.

No tears.

No begging.

Just finality.

And for the first time since this began, a question slips in uninvited.

What if I made a mistake?

I push it down.

Mistakes are for weak men.

She cheated on me so she had to go. I always treated her right.

Her teary face from that day appeared in my head as I battled my own thoughts. She genuinely seemed confused, but I guess that’s how good of a liar she is.

Lying. Pretending. Crying. You’d think she was truly the victim.

I shove the images to the back of my mind. I’m through with all that. I shouldn’t be plaguing my mind with such thoughts.

Still… my hand drifts to the other side of the bed, to the space she once occupied.

It’s cold.

And for reasons I don’t yet understand, that frightens me.