Chapter Four: Taking What’s Yours

Alice’s POV

David came back with a white dress shirt in his hand. Perfectly pressed.

I recognized it immediately — Italian custom tailoring, his initials stitched discreetly at the cuff: D.N. One of the shirts I personally sent out for care every year.

He walked straight to Lily and handed it to her; no hesitation.

As she took it, her fingers brushed the back of his hand. Just for a second. Long enough to be intentional.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

In front of me, she pressed the shirt against her chest. Cotton slid against silk, the gesture intimate, proprietary. Like she was already wearing it.

“Goodnight, David.”

She turned and opened the master bedroom door. Just before it closed, she glanced back over her shoulder — past David, right at me — and smiled.

A clean, unmistakable smile. The kind that said: See? Even this.

The door shut.

My robe. My husband’s shirt. My bedroom. All of it sealed behind that door.

The hallway fell silent again. The silence hung heavy on the air. Heavier than before.

David stood with his back to me. His shoulders were tense, as if he were holding something in place — or simply tired of holding anything at all. After a few seconds, he turned around.

His expression was familiar by now. Fatigue. Residual irritation. And buried beneath it, something faint — something he probably wouldn’t recognize as hesitation. Then it hardened into something else.

“Go to bed,” he said again. Colder this time. Final.

“David?”

My voice sounded dry, scraped thin. “That’s our bedroom.”

“Lily needs it right now,” he replied. “She just lost her husband. She’s not in a good headspace. She needs comfort. Rest.”

“You mean she needs what used to be mine?”

“You’re the lady of the house…” he began.

“I know.” I cut him off, the calm in my voice scaring even me.

“Be gracious. Be understanding. Be the bigger person,” he urged.

Then I asked the question I’d swallowed for six years. “What about me?”

We stood close. Close enough that I caught the faint scent of his aftershave — the one I’d given him for his birthday last year.

He’d said, I’ll save it for special occasions. But he never used it, until now.

That realization hurt more than I expected. He used my gift. He just didn’t use it for me.

I thought of our wedding day. The priest asking if I was willing.

I’d said, yes.

Back then, I thought it meant love. Partnership. Loyalty. Now I understood what willing meant in this marriage.

Willing to give up my room.

My bed.

My husband.

My life.

I looked at him — really looked. No pleading. No searching.

“I need my husband,” I told him. “At least once, I need you to stand on my side. Between me and another woman.”

“I need my daughter to call me Mom — not treat me like the villain ruining her happy family.”

“I need this house — the one I’ve poured six years into — to give me something that’s actually mine. Even just a little dignity.”

My voice shook. Not from fear. From grief. “Have you ever given me that, David?”

He stared at me like I’d suddenly changed languages. He opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned.

“You’re exhausted,” he said at last. “Go get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing left to talk about.”

I turned toward the study — the opposite direction from the master bedroom.

“Goodnight, David.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, something like surprise slipping into his voice.

“The study,” I said without turning back. “I’ll sleep there, tonight.”

“Don’t do this.” His voice dropped, edged with warning — and control. “Take the guest room. The study sofa’s too small. You won’t sleep.”

He grabbed my wrist. His hand was warm. Familiar.

The same hand I’d wanted for ten years. The same warmth I’d leaned into for six.

I stumbled forward, into him. His chest was solid. Warm. It smelled like him.

My body reacted before my mind did. A hitch in my breath. A tremor I hated myself for.

He felt it.

There was a pause.

“About Lily…” he began, then stopped. “She’s depending on us right now.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “She doesn’t have to ask. You arrange everything for her.”

Something tightened in his face. “Alice…” he sighed, his voice softening. “You’re my wife.”

I looked up at him. “Then what is she?”

He released my wrist. But instead of stepping back, he moved closer. Too close. Close enough that I felt his breath.

My body betrayed me again. It had been a long time since anyone had held me like this. Not politely. Not distantly. Intimate.

His arms came around me — slowly, naturally. Wordlessly, he pulled me in close. Familiar in a way that hurt. My forehead rested against his shoulder. His aftershave filled my senses — the one I’d chosen for him. For us.

His hand settled on my back, patting gently. The same rhythm I used to soothe Camilla to sleep.

Absurd.