CHAPTER 4

The silence in my new apartment was a balm. It was mine. It was quiet. 

It held no trace of joy turned bitter, no reminder of broken promises. For the first time in days, I could breathe without the scent of Lanc’s cologne, without the oppressive weight of his presence, choking me.

I’d changed my number. I’d left the penthouse with nothing but a single suitcase of my own clothes and the urn. He could keep his gilded cage. I was finally free.

A sharp, incessant pounding on the door shattered the peace. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew that knock. It was the sound of entitlement, of a man who had never been told ‘no’.

“Gwen! Open this door. I know you’re in there.”

It’s Lanc. Of course.  

I considered not answering. But he would likely break the door down. I swung it open, my body blocking the entrance. “What do you want, Lanc?”

He looks irritated and not even the slightest remorseful. There was no sign of any grief on his face. He was still in his work suit, his hair perfectly in place, as if he’d come straight from the office to deal with a minor nuisance.

“Did you change your number?” he asked, his voice accusatory. “Andyou even moved out. This is so childish of you, Gwen. What are you trying to prove here?”

I stared at him, a hollow laugh escaping me. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m leaving you. I thought the slap in the hospital made that fairly clear.”

He brushed past me, forcing his way into the small space, his eyes scanning the bare walls, the single suitcase still open on the floor, with disdain. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re upset. I understand. But this melodrama ends now.”

Then, his expression shifted, as if he’d just remembered a minor errand. He pulled a small, velvet-covered box from his jacket pocket. It was unmistakably from a jeweler he favored, one where a single piece cost more than a year’s rent in this building.

“I brought this for Angela,” he said, holding it out. “A peace offering. She’ll like it. It’s that butterfly design she’s always going on about.”

My blood ran cold. I recognized that box. I’d seen it before. In a photo Stella had smugly texted me weeks ago—a “get well soon” present for Jenny after a minor dental procedure.

He was giving my daughter his mistress’s child’s discarded gift.

The sheer, breathtaking cruelty of it stole the air from my lungs. I took the box from his hand, my fingers trembling not with sadness, but with a rage so pure it was blinding.

“A peace offering?” My voice was a whisper. I opened the box. Inside, nestled on white satin, was a delicate butterfly pendant. It was cheap, mass-produced, nothing like the custom sea glass pins I’d made for her.

“She’ll love it, don’t you think?” Lanc said, completely oblivious, already pulling out his phone. “It will cheer her up. Where is she? In the bedroom? Angela? Your father’s here!”

He called out her name in my barren, silent apartment, and something in me finally, completely broke.

“She’s dead, Lanc.” The words were flat, final.

He waved a dismissive hand, his attention on his phone. “Stop saying that, Gwen. It’s horrible. I have to call Stella and cancel dinner. She’s expecting me.” He started dialing.

I looked from his face, already softening in anticipation of talking to her, to the cheap pendant in my hand—the symbol of his absolute, utter failure as a father, as a human being.

I walked to the open window. The city hummed below.

“Lanc?” I said.

He glanced up, impatient. “What?”

“Catch.”

I threw the jewelry box out the window. We were on the fourth floor. I heard the distinct, satisfying shatter of glass and metal on the pavement below.

Lanc’s face went from irritation to stunned disbelief. “Have you lost your mind? That was expensive!”

“It was trash,” I spat, turning on him. “Just like your affection. Just like your apologies. Jenny’s leftovers? For the daughter you allowed to die? Get out.”

His phone rang. Stella. He answered it immediately, his back to me. “Stella, my love. I’m sorry, I have to cancel. Gwen is… unwell.” He said it like I was a misbehaving pet. “Yes, yes, tell Jenny Uncle Lanc will bring her something better tomorrow.”

Uncle Lanc. While his own daughter was ashes in an urn on my bookshelf.

The world tilted. The walls seemed to press in. The sound of his voice, so tender with them, so dismissive of me, of Angela, became a roaring in my ears. The grief, the exhaustion, the days without sleep or food, it all crashed down at once. My knees buckled. I hit the floor and everything went black.

Later that evening, I woke up on my couch. The light was different. Softer. Evening had fallen. A man with a kind, weary face and a medical bag was leaning over me, checking my pulse. Lanc stood behind him, looking more annoyed than concerned.

“Ah, you’re back with us,” the doctor said gently. “I’m Dr. Arthur Sapiera. You gave your… husband… quite a scare.”

“She’s always been dramatic,” Lanc muttered from the corner.

Dr. Sapiera shot him a look that suggested he’d already formed an opinion. He focused on me. “You fainted. Severe emotional distress, acute fatigue, dehydration. Your body is telling you to rest, Mrs. Arcony. It’s been through a terrible trauma.”

You have no idea, I thought.

Lanc’s phone buzzed. He looked at it and sighed. “It’s my mother. I have to take this.” He walked into the kitchen, his voice dropping to a low, frustrated murmur. “No, Mother, she’s fine. Just a fainting spell…yes, over the girl. I know, it’s been a difficult time for everyone… No, I haven’t stopped looking. I told you, I will never stop looking for her.”

Dr. Sapiera helped me sit up and handed me a glass of water. He watched Lanc in the other room, a frown on his face. “He’s been like this since I got here,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “On the phone, talking about some endless search. It’s all he seems to care about.”

The words triggered a memory, something Lanc had drunkenly confessed years ago, early in our marriage, a story he’d never repeated.

“He’s looking for a ghost,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

The doctor looked at me, curious.

“Years ago, before he was the Lanc Arcony, he was jumped by thugs. Left for dead in an alley. He says a woman found him. A woman with a young daughter. They took him in, hid him, nursed him back to health. He was half-delirious with fever and pain. He says she was an angel. By the time he was lucid, they were gone. Vanished. No note, nothing.”

I took a sip of water, the memory feeling like it belonged to another life. “He became obsessed. He’s been searching for her ever since. He thinks she’s his destiny. His one true soulmate. Everything else…” I gestured weakly around the apartment, at my own broken self. “Everything else is just a placeholder. A distraction until he finds his angel.”

Dr. Sapiera’s face was a mask of professional neutrality, but his eyes were deeply sad. He understood now. The expensive, discarded jewelry. The phone calls to another woman. The utter lack of grief for a dead child.

He wasn’t just unfaithful—he chased an illusion, and his real family, me and our daughter, was the price he paid.