Ghost Number

Aurora's POV**

The morning after our massive fight was completely dead silent. I woke up with my eyelids feeling so swollen and heavy from crying all night. 

When I rolled over to Donald’s side of the bed, the sheets were already cold and smooth. He had left for the office without saying a single word to me.

I spent the entire day trying to stay busy, mostly to keep myself from completely losing my mind. I scrubbed the kitchen counters until my fingers were raw, reorganized the pantry, and did anything I could just to feel useful. 

Donald’s words from last night kept looping in my head like a bad song on repeat. Dumb. Fat. Dirty.

 Every time those words hit me, a fresh wave of shame would wash over me, making me feel so incredibly small. I tried to tell myself he was just stressed. The firm was facing a lot of pressure, and he was just taking it out on me. He didn't mean it. He couldn't have meant it.

To make up for everything, I decided to cook his absolute favorite dinner. I made a rich, traditional beef stew that took hours to simmer. By 7:00 PM, the table was fully set, the candles were lit, and the whole house smelled amazing.

By 9:00 PM, the food was stone cold.

I sat alone at the massive dining table, staring at his empty chair. My phone was sitting right next to my plate. I had called him three times, and every single time, it went straight to voicemail.

Lola walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at the untouched food, then looked at me with so much sorrow in her eyes. "Ma'am, you should go upstairs and get some rest. It’s late. He’s obviously not coming home for dinner."

"No, I’ll wait, Lola," I said, forcing a tight, exhausting smile. "You can go ahead and sleep. I’ll clear the table when he gets back."

Lola sighed, shaking her head. "You are too good for this house, ma'am. Way too good." She muttered something else under her breath that I couldn't catch and walked off to her room.

It was almost midnight when the heavy front door finally clicked open.

I jumped up from the sofa, my heart racing. Donald stumbled into the foyer, his tie completely loosened and his suit jacket hanging off one shoulder. The heavy smell of alcohol hit me before he even stepped fully into the light. He was completely drunk.

"Donald," I said, rushing over to help him. I reached out to pull the jacket off his shoulders. "Where have you been? I was so worried. I called you so many times."

"Get off me," he groaned, aggressively shoving my hands away. He lost his balance slightly, bumping against the wall before glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. "Just stop suffocating me, Aurora. God, the second I walk into this house, you’re all over me. Let me breathe."

My hands hovered in the air, trembling.

 "I was just worried, Donald. I made dinner. It’s midnight."

"I don't care about your dinner," he shouted, stumbling past me toward the stairs. "I ate out. Go to bed and leave me alone."

I stood there in the dark foyer, watching him drag his feet up the stairs. The rejection felt like a physical slap, but I swallowed the lump in my throat and followed him up, just wanting the day to end.

By the time I got into the bedroom, Donald had already kicked off his shoes and thrown himself face down across the bed, completely passed out. He was snoring softly, fast asleep.

I sighed, walking over to his side of the bed to pull the blanket over him so he wouldn't catch a cold. As I leaned over, his phone, which was sitting right on the edge of the nightstand, suddenly lit up the dark room.

It was a text message. It was past midnight, and the phone was glowing brightly. Mindlessly, without even thinking, my eyes drifted to the screen.

The text was from an unknown number. It read: Thanks for tonight, Donald. You were right, she really doesn't deserve you. Can't wait until we don't have to hide anymore. Call me tomorrow.

My breath completely hitched. The room felt like it was spinning.

 I stood frozen, staring at the glowing words. She really doesn't deserve you. Can't wait until we don't have to hide anymore.

My mind instantly flashed back to earlier that day. 

I remembered the scent of Lily’s perfume on his clothes. I remembered the way he was looking at Lily by the side of the road. I remembered the way Lily had looked at my baggy sweater with total disgust.

No, a voice whispered in my head. No, it can't be.

With shaking hands, I picked up his phone. My heart was beating so loud I was terrified it would wake him up. I unlocked his screen, because he never changed his passcode, and opened the contact info for that unknown number. 

I stared at the eleven digits displayed on the screen, my chest aching.

I quickly grabbed my own phone from my pocket, opening my contact list and scrolling down until I found Lily’s name. I placed the two phones side by side in the dark, comparing the numbers digit by digit.

I kept reading, my eyes moving back and forth between the two screens. But halfway through, the numbers stopped matching. The unknown number ended in a completely different set of digits. It wasn't Lily's number at all. They didn't tally.

A massive, overwhelming wave of relief washed over me so hard my knees almost buckled. I let out a shaky, breathless laugh, wiping a tear that had slipped down my cheek.

"See? You're crazy, Aurora," I whispered to myself, pressing my hand against my forehead. "It’s not Lily. It could never be Lily."

I put Donald’s phone back on the nightstand, trying to calm myself down. Lily was my friend. She was the one who had just sat me down on the sofa today and comforted me. She told me to trust God. She told me children would come when the time was right. Lily had known me for years. She knew I was an orphan, and she knew I had nobody else. There was no way on earth she could ever do something so disgusting to me. She loved me.

It had to be some random girl from his office. Some secretary or some ambitious woman trying to climb the corporate ladder at the Blackwood Organisation. Donald was a wealthy, powerful CEO, so it made sense that women would throw themselves at him.

But then, the reality of what I was looking at fully crashed through the relief, and a brutal, suffocating pain hit me right in the chest.

My knees actually gave out this time. I collapsed onto the floor right beside the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest as a violent sob tore out of my throat. I clamped both hands over my mouth to muffle the sound, terrified of waking him up, but the agonizing hurt inside me was too big to hold back.

Donald was cheating on me. My husband, the man I gave up everything for, was sleeping with another woman.

I looked up at his sleeping figure through a blurry veil of hot, bitter tears. The shock of it felt like a knife twisting straight into my heart. 

While I was sitting downstairs in the dark, staring at cold food and praying he was safe, he was in a hotel room somewhere, wrapped up in another woman's arms. He was looking at someone else the way he used to look at me.

 He was telling another woman that I was trash, that I didn't deserve him, and that he couldn't wait to be rid of me.

The betrayal felt so heavy it physically hurt to breathe. I had no family. I had no parents to call, no childhood home to run back to. I was completely, utterly alone in the world, and the one person who was supposed to be my home had just destroyed me.

I crawled into my side of the bed, pulling the covers over my head, and wept until my ribs ached and my sheets were soaked.

 I lay there in the pitch black, completely broken, realizing that my marriage was nothing but a beautiful lie.