Chapter 5 ~ A divorce

A soft knock on the door made Silas pause from his laptop and look up. “Come in.” He said, unsure who would knock at his office door when he was working and hated to be disturbed. 

“Sir, I brought your coffee,” Jane announced as she carefully walked in carrying his coffee in a small glass kettle and a mug.

For a split second, disappointment flickered across his eyes before he could stop it. He glanced past the housekeeper, as if expecting someone else to follow, then back to the cup. His eyebrows raised in question. 

Silas, who assumed his wife was simply throwing a tantrum, went back to typing away on his laptop while Jane poured his coffee. She carefully placed it back as Silas lifted the cup and took a sip, only to spit it out. 

“What the hell is this? Who made it?” He asked angrily. 

The coffee tasted nothing like it did every night. He was sure it wasn’t Dahlia that made it.

The housekeeper hesitated as she responded in a shaky voice. “Madam Dahlia only gave us the instructions. We followed every word.”

“Well, take it with you and call my wife!” Silas retorted impatiently. 

“Madam won’t be able to, because Miss Anderson wasn’t the only one who was burnt. Madam was too, and her burn looked worse, so she is resting.” 

Silas’s fingers paused mid-movement. His heart stopped like someone had pulled it out, leaving him breathless.

“What do you mean?”

“Madam Dahlia was burned as well,” the housekeeper repeated. “On her foot. It looked quite painful.”

Silas stood up so fast the chair scraped harshly against the floor as he rushed to where Dahlia had locked herself. 

Silas rushed in and found her sitting by the bed, carefully unwrapping the gauze around her foot to check the swelling. Her foot was an angry shade of red, and the sight made Silas ashamed.

He had no idea his wife was in pain. He thought she simply stayed in the room because she was angry about the punishment. He took a deep breath and crossed the room in a few strides. 

His eyes fell immediately on the bandage, and he felt like it was him feeling the pain.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, reaching out. “Let me see your hands too.”

She pulled away before he could touch her.

“No.”

“Dahlia, stop being stubborn and let me see.” Silas insisted, but Dahlia was colder than ever.

“Just get out, Silas. I don’t want to see you!”

He drew a breath, irritation and guilt tangling together. “You’re still angry about today. I get it. But you didn’t have to take it out on Joyce.”

Dahlia slowly looked up at him. For a moment, her face was blank. Then she laughed.

It was a soft sound, almost fragile, like something breaking, and for some reason, it scared Silas.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” she said.

He frowned deeper. “What are you talking about?”

“You just proved my point,” Dahlia continued, “You never listen. Not to me anyway.”

“That’s not fair,” he said quickly. “I’m listening now. Explain it to me. What were you thinking when all this happened?”

She studied him, as if weighing something invisible. She looked at his handsome features and remembered how she had asked him to marry her and how excited she was when he said yes. But somehow, through the years, the man she loved isn’t the one she sees. It’s almost like she was looking at his shell.

“I was thinking,” she said slowly, “That maybe it’s best we divorce.”

Silas stared at her, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Don’t say things like that,” he said after a moment. “You’re just emotional.”

“I’m very calm,” Dahlia replied.

He did notice how calm she was, and it unsettled him for reasons he couldn’t explain. To him, she was being this way because she thought Joyce was her competition, and she was just being jealous. 

“I told you before,” Silas said, as he stepped closer and sat next to her, then took her leg and helped apply the soothing cream, “You don’t need to be jealous of Joyce. I only see her as my sister. I don’t understand why you keep targeting her.”

‘Targeting her?’ Dahlia thought and shook her head. 

It didn’t matter what she said or how things turned out. Joyce was the victim, and she was the devil. It was high time the marriage ended; maybe then his eyes would open, and they would see that snake for who she was. 

“My birthday is in two days. I want you to give me something.” Dahlia said.

“Anything!” Silas responded, eager to appease her, “What do you want?”

“For you to sign over a property of my choosing to me.” She smiled, and he chuckled with a shake of his head.

“Deal. I’ll ask Nate to prepare the paperwork.” Silas said, but Dhalia shook her head.

“That won’t be necessary, I’ll handle the paperwork. You just need to sign.”

Just before he could respond, his phone rang, and the ID flashed Joyce. Silas looked torn as he looked from Dahlia to the phone. But she simply smiled and said, 

“You can answer, I was about to rest anyway.”

Silas hesitated for only a second before answering the call.

“Joyce?” he said softly, instinctively lowering his voice as he stepped a little farther from the bed.

Dahlia lay back against the pillows, her eyes following his movements with detached calm. She watched the familiar scene unfold, the way his shoulders subtly relaxed, the concern that rushed into his tone without effort.

“Silas… I’m sorry to bother you so late,” Joyce’s weak voice came through the speaker. “My hand is still hurting. I tried to sleep, but it keeps throbbing.”

“I’ll be right there,” he replied without hesitation.

He turned back toward the bed as if only remembering where he was. Guilt flashed in his eyes as he said, “I’ll check on her quickly and come back.” 

Dahlia didn’t stop him.

She didn’t ask him to stay.

She didn’t remind him that she was injured, too.

She only smiled. A small, distant curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Go,” she said softly. “She needs you more.”

Something about her tone made Silas pause. He searched her face, as if expecting anger, tears, anything familiar, but there was nothing, and that unsettled him, making his heart feel like it was breaking for reasons he couldn’t explain. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, unsure why the words sounded like a promise even to himself.

Dahlia nodded and turned her face toward the window as the door closed behind him.

She stared at the ceiling, counting the slow seconds as pain pulsed through her foot. Physical pain was easy. It was sharp, honest, temporary, and easy to heal. Unlike the heart that bled with no sign of ever stopping.

He had chosen her again, but this time, she felt nothing but clarity.

Two days.

Just two more days.

She reached for her phone and unlocked it, scrolling calmly until she found the number she needed and typed a message:

[I need you to prepare divorce papers. I’ll send the details to your email.]

Dahlia closed her eyes after she pressed send. It felt like she had let go of the last fragile thread tying her heart to a man who had never truly seen her.

The warmth of that house was gone.

And she was finally ready to leave it behind.