Menikahi Duda

Sophia’s POV 

I glanced at Aiden’s suit jacket which still hung at the back of the living-room chair. He had left it there in a hurry earlier that morning.

His phone had buzzed at 5:12 a.m., and whatever name flashed on his screen had tightened his jaw.

He hadn’t realized that I noticed.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” he’d said, buttoning his shirt without looking at me.

“Where are you going this early?” I had asked.

“Work,” he replied, walking past me to the door.

But he wasn’t holding his briefcase. He wasn’t even heading towards his car. Instead, I watched from the window as he walked out on foot, heading straight down the street, his shoulders squared as though he was bracing for a confrontation he didn’t want me to witness.

He used to tell me everything.

Now, I learnt more from watching him leave than from any conversation we had.

By noon, I tried calling, but the call went straight to voicemail and by three, the same thing.

By five, I’d stopped dialing. Pride was a weak companion, but it was all I had left.

At six, I set the table for two.

At seven, I reheated the food.

At eight, I finally sat down, staring at his untouched plate across from me, the chair where he used to reach for my hand, the seat he once claimed felt like home because I was beside him.

I gathered the cold food, replaced the lids, and set everything back on the stove. 

Hours passed.

I glanced at the wall clock again. 

3:17 a.m.

No message. No missed calls. No sign of him.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me and whispered something I had never allowed myself to say out loud.

“I think I’m losing you.”

When Aiden spent long hours at the office, he usually texted. A single line. “Don’t wait up.” Lately, even that courtesy had become too much effort for him.

I leaned back in my chair and my mind tried to conjure the version of him I once knew, the man in the wheelchair who looked at me as though my presence alone kept him alive. 

The man who squeezed my fingers when the pain made him tremble. The man who asked, his eyes glossy with tears. “Will you stay?”

I had stayed.

Every single day.

And now he walked again. Worked again, without relying on me.

It seemed that was all it took for me to become unnecessary.

I pushed the cold plate away and forced myself upstairs. Sleep wasn’t comfort, but it was the only escape left that didn’t require his permission.

 I pushed the plate and dragged myself upstairs. Sleep was the only escape left. 

The sound of the front door slamming jerked me awake at 7 AM.  I’d managed to sleep through at least for a few hours. 

Footsteps echoed from downstairs. He was home finally. 

Despite the cold shoulder, the long night, the way he looked through me as though I were invisible, my stupid heart still jumped.  I still loved him, even though I was starting to hate myself for it. 

I found him in the kitchen, already, showered, dressed in fresh clothes, coffee cup in hand. 

“You’re just getting back?” The words stumbled out before I could stop them but he didn’t look up. 

“I had to catch up on work.” 

“Work?” I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “Aiden you left yesterday morning and you’re just coming back and now you have to leave because you have work to catch up? It has been almost twenty-four hours since you left this house.” 

“I know how long I’ve been gone.” His voice was sharp and dismissive. 

“I made dinner for you, I was expecting you, but you didn’t bother to text or call….”

“I was busy.”

 Busy? I guess that was his favourite word to say. I have heard that from him more than again. 

“Busy doing what exactly?” 

Finally, he raised his gaze to me, his eyes were as cold as ice. 

“Working Sophia. Some of us have responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities?” I felt something crack inside me. “And I don’t?”

He set his coffee down with a deliberate decision. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?”  My voice broke. “I waited for you……”

“I never asked you to.” 

The words hit me like a slap. 

“No,” I whispered. “You never asked for anything anymore, do you? You just take and take….”

“Take what?” He turned to face me and I almost wished he hadn’t. “What exactly am I taking from you?”

“Everything. My heart, my hope, my reason for existing. Did you ever love me?” The question ripped out before I could stop it. “Or…. was I….just convenient…..”

For a moment, a flicker of guilt flashed on his face but it was gone before I could be sure. 

“You can believe whatever you want to believe.” He said simply. 

“That’s not an answer.”

“Is the only one you’re getting.” He yelled.

I stared at the man I had carried through hell. “When you were in that wheelchair,” I said softly, “when you needed me more than anyone else…you…you let me believe that you chose me. Was I wrong? Was I just the only woman desperate enough to stay?”

His jaw tightened.

“Maybe.”

The single word burnt me.

“Six months,” I whispered. “Six months of sacrificing everything, and maybe I was just… convenient.”

He shrugged. Actually shrugged.

“You came from nothing, Sophia. Maybe you don’t understand what it’s like to work twenty-four seven. Some of us have real responsibilities.”

The irony almost made me laugh.

If only he knew what I walked away from.

What bloodline I belonged to.

What legacy I had abandoned because I believed in him.

But he didn’t know. He had no idea that I was the heir to the Hale Dynasty.

And now, I wasn’t sure he deserved to.

“Real responsibilities,” I echoed. “And your wife isn’t one of them?”

“You’re not falling apart.”

“Look at me!” My voice cracked as I spoke.

He finally met my eyes. The sympathy I glimpsed there lasted barely a heartbeat.

“When was the last time you really saw me?” I whispered.

“I see you.”

“No, you see the version of me that helped you survive,” I said, tears sliding down my face. “The man who begged me for forever, he saw me. He needed me.”

“That man was desperate.”

The words felt like a knife had been jabbed to my chest.

“So nothing we planned meant anything to you?” I asked. “None of it?”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He adjusted his tie and grabbed his briefcase. 

“Six months of marriage,” I whispered. “And you weren’t thinking clearly?”

He turned towards the door.

“I have meetings all day. Don’t wait up.”

“Aiden…” My voice cracked. “Look at me and tell me you never loved me.”

He paused.

“Tell me I never mattered,” I whispered.

The silence stretched between us like a chasm. When he finally turned, his expression was unreadable.

“Does it matter what I say? You’ve already decided what you want to believe.”

“That’s still not an answer.”

He opened the door. “Maybe that’s enough. That’s all you deserve.”