004

Gerald’s POV

She actually left.

No argument.

No tears.

No accusations.

She didn’t even ask me to reconsider.

She simply signed the papers, packed her things, and walked out of the house we’d shared for three years as though she had already accepted that I was no longer part of her life.

I stood there long after the front door closed.

The silence that followed was strange.

Too sudden.

Too complete.

For three years, there had always been some evidence of Calista in this house. Her footsteps on the stairs. The sound of dishes in the kitchen. Her music playing somewhere in the background. The occasional laugh when she found something amusing and assumed I was interested enough to listen.

Now there was nothing.

I looked down at the divorce papers in my hand.

Signed.

Final.

Free.

That was what I had wanted.

Wasn’t it?

I had spent the past few days thinking about Ophelia, about everything we’d once been, about the years we’d lost because of what happened between us.

And now Calista was gone.

There was nothing standing between me and the woman I had once believed I’d spend the rest of my life with.

I should have felt relieved.

Instead, I found myself staring at the door.

Why hadn’t Calista fought?

The question irritated me almost immediately.

What did I expect her to do?

Beg?

Cry?

Tell me she loved me?

Perhaps some part of me had expected exactly that.

But she hadn’t.

She had simply accepted my decision.

I shook the thought away.

It didn’t matter.

I’d made the right choice.

Our contract was ending anyway. I’d always known that day would come. Calista deserved the opportunity to build a life with someone who could love her properly, and I deserved the opportunity to find out whether what I still felt for Ophelia was real.

And I needed to know.

Because despite everything she had done to me years ago, despite the betrayal, despite the humiliation, some part of me had never completely stopped loving her.

Maybe that was why seeing her again had affected me so deeply.

Maybe people really could change.

Maybe I had been given a second chance.

I looked down at the papers once more before setting them aside.

Calista was gone.

Ophelia was here.

For the first time in years, I could finally stop wondering what might have happened if we’d gotten another chance.

Now I would find out.

The first few days after Calista left were strangely easy.

Almost too easy.

Ophelia was around more often, and I allowed her to be.

We went out together.

We talked about the past.

We laughed about things only the two of us remembered.

She knew the places I used to frequent when I was younger. She remembered the stupid things I'd done before Deneuve Industries became what it was. She knew the version of me that existed before the suits, the boardrooms, the endless meetings and the responsibilities that came with my father's name.

With her, I didn't have to explain certain things.

She already knew.

And that familiarity felt good.

One evening, we sat at a restaurant overlooking the city.

Ophelia rested her chin against her hand, smiling at me.

"You still hate olives."

I glanced at the plate in front of me.

"I've always hated olives."

She laughed.

"I know."

Something warm settled in my chest.

There it was.

That feeling.

That old familiarity.

The feeling of being known.

I looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.

Maybe this was what I'd been missing.

Maybe this was why Calista and I had never felt quite like a real marriage.

She had been good to me.

I knew that.

More than good, actually.

She had been patient, considerate and loyal.

But love?

I had never been certain.

Not the way I'd been certain with Ophelia.

At least, that was what I believed.

And now that Ophelia was back, the uncertainty seemed to disappear.

I reached across the table and took her hand.

She looked down at our joined fingers before looking back at me.

"I missed this," she whispered.

I didn't answer immediately.

Neither did she.

But I didn't let go.

For the first time since Calista left, I felt completely certain.

I'd made the right decision.

Weeks passed.

Life settled into a rhythm again.

Ophelia became a regular presence in my life, and I stopped questioning whether that was what I wanted.

It was.

Or at least, I told myself it was.

We spent evenings together. Sometimes we’d talk until late into the night, remembering the years we’d lost. Other times, we’d simply sit beside each other without speaking.

She knew my favorite restaurants.

She remembered the kind of music I liked.

She even knew the drink I ordered without asking.

It was easy.

Familiar.

Comfortable.

And every time I caught myself thinking about Calista, I reminded myself that three years had created habits.

Nothing more.

I’d been married to her for three years.

Of course I noticed her absence.

Of course the house felt different.

That didn’t mean I loved her.

It meant I had become accustomed to her presence.

There was a difference.

At least, that was what I believed.

One morning, I walked into the kitchen and stopped.

For a brief second, I expected to see Calista standing there.

She had always been there around this time.

Breakfast.

Coffee.

Some unnecessary little comment about how I never ate enough.

But the kitchen was empty.

I frowned.

Then I remembered.

She was gone.

I opened the refrigerator.

There was no container of the orange juice she sometimes made.

I almost reached for the ingredients myself before stopping.

Why was I thinking about that?

I shut the refrigerator.

This was ridiculous.

I had work to do.

I went to the office.

And for the next several hours, I buried myself in it.

It worked.

Mostly.

That evening, Ophelia came over.

She walked into my office carrying two glasses of wine.

"You work too much."

"I have a company to run."

"You always did."

She placed one of the glasses beside me before leaning against the edge of my desk.

I glanced at her.

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

"What?"

"That you remember me."

She smiled.

"Because I do."

Something about the answer pleased me.

I leaned back in my chair.

"You've changed."

Her smile faltered for the briefest moment.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No."

I studied her.

"I think you've changed for the better."

She smiled again.

"Maybe I just grew up."

Maybe.

That was what I wanted to believe.

I lifted my glass.

"Maybe I did too."

She raised hers against mine.

The soft clink echoed through the room.

"For us," she said.

"For us."

I drank.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a future with her again.

Maybe we'd wasted enough time.

Maybe this time would be different.

Maybe this time, I wouldn't let the past destroy what we could have.

Still, there were moments.

Small ones.

Nothing important.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

One night, I came home late.

The house was dark.

I walked into the kitchen without turning on the lights and instinctively looked toward the counter.

Nothing.

I stood there for a moment.

Then I realized what I was waiting for.

Calista used to leave food for me when I came home late.

Even when I told her not to wait.

Even when I told her I could take care of myself.

She always did it anyway.

Sometimes she’d leave a note.

Eat before you sleep.

Sometimes she’d simply leave the plate covered and go to bed.

I had rarely thanked her for it.

I hadn’t thought I needed to.

Because she’d always been there.

Now she wasn’t.

I opened the refrigerator.

There was food inside.

Nothing prepared specifically for me.

Nothing labeled.

Nothing waiting.

I closed it again.

The strange ache that appeared in my chest irritated me.

I shouldn’t miss that.

I shouldn’t miss her.

I’d made my decision.

And I was happy with it.

I had Ophelia now.

The woman I’d once loved.

The woman I had believed I’d lost forever.

I wasn’t going to ruin this second chance by constantly looking backward.

I walked upstairs.

I passed Calista’s old bedroom.

The door was slightly open.

I stopped.

For a second, I considered walking inside.

Instead, I kept going.

There was no reason to look.

She was gone.

And I had to let her go.

A few more weeks passed.

Things with Ophelia continued to feel good.

There were no arguments.

No complications.

Nothing to make me question my decision.

Whenever doubt tried to creep in, I pushed it away.

I had chosen her because I loved her.

That was enough.

One evening, she rested her head against my shoulder while we watched a movie.

I looked down at her.

She smiled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring."

"I was thinking."

"About?"

I hesitated.

Then I answered honestly.

"How strange it is that you're here again."

Her fingers intertwined with mine.

"I always knew we'd find our way back to each other."

I looked at our hands.

For some reason, the words didn't produce the rush of emotion I expected.

But I ignored that.

I squeezed her hand.

"Maybe we were always supposed to."

She smiled against my shoulder.

And I let myself believe it.

I let myself believe that the past had finally come full circle.

That Calista had been a chapter that had simply reached its natural ending.

That I had not thrown away something precious.

That I had not made a mistake.

I believed I had chosen the right woman.

I believed I had made the right decision.

And for a while, everything seemed to prove me right.

I had no idea how quickly that certainty would disappear.