The Name He Whispered

Isla's POV

It was barely more than a whisper. “Viola… I loved you so deep… don’t leave me. I only love you…” The words were not meant for me.

I stood there, frozen at the threshold of his hospital room, the scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose, and for a second, I genuinely believed I was dreaming. No, hallucinating. Maybe I had been up too long. Maybe my brain was making things up because it could not handle any more disappointment. But then he said it again. “Viola... I missed you every day.”

I did not move. In fact, I could not move. The bouquet of pink carnations slipped from my hand and scattered across the linoleum like forgotten confetti. He once told me carnations reminded him of his parents' love. I bought them every time I visited a hospital, just in case they cheered him up. But right now, I wanted to stomp on them.

He lay there with his eyes closed, still pale from the surgery, the monitor rhythmically beeping beside him. His lashes fluttered as if he were still dreaming, dreaming of her. Not me. Never me. I blinked, but the name still echoed in the air like a ghost refusing to leave. “Viola.”

Who is Viola? The question screamed inside my head, but I said nothing. Instead, I sat down quietly beside the man I had devoted five years to. The man whose life I had molded mine around like clay to stone. My fingers hovered over his, then pulled away. I did not want to touch him. Not when his heart was with someone else.

Five minutes ago, I had been relieved. The doctor had told me his emergency appendectomy went smoothly. “He’s stable,” he said. “He’ll wake in a few minutes. You can sit with him.” I had thanked him, bowed politely, and held onto hope like a fool. I still remember standing in that empty hallway, whispering, It’s okay now. We’ll go home tomorrow. I’ll make his favorite soup. I’ll...

But now? Now, I sat in silence next to a man who had just confessed his love for another woman, in a moment most people reserved for their deepest truths. And it was not me. “Viola…” Her name again. It tore through my chest like a blade.

He was not even fully awake. And that’s what made it worse. This was not a calculated lie. This was raw, honest, and subconscious. He was calling out to someone he missed. Someone he loved. And that someone was not me. Not the wife who gave up her job, her family, her dreams to build a life around him.

Earlier that day, I’d been so... happy. God, I was glowing with it. I remember walking through the city, one hand cradling a grocery bag and the other holding a tiny box wrapped in silver ribbon. I had smiled at strangers. Smiled at the clouds. Even smiled at the pigeons fighting over a chip.

“I’m so lucky,” I whispered. “He’s finally home.” He had been away for three months, working on some out-of-town project. It was not new, his work always came first. But he promised this weekend would be ours. Just me, him, and Sophie and I had planned everything. Salmon. Red velvet cake. Fresh flowers. Clean sheets. I had even found Sophie’s favorite giraffe plushie she had lost months ago.

When I got home, Sophie squealed “Mummy!” and wrapped herself around my leg. I laughed and kissed her cheeks, then asked, “Where’s Daddy?” She pointed to the bedroom. “Sleeping.” I tiptoed in, eager to surprise him. “Hubby?” I called. He jolted, turning off his phone too quickly. “Oh. You’re back early.”

“I wanted to cook your favorite,” I beamed. “And I got you something.” Before I could hand it over, he shoved a bag into my hands. “Got you something too.” Inside was a leather mini skirt and a perfume so strong it made me dizzy. I stared at it. “This… isn’t really me.”

He shrugged. “My colleague’s wife wears stuff like that. I thought you might want a change.” I forced a smile. “Thank you.” Even though it did not feel like a gift meant for me. Even though I now wonder if it was never really for me at all.

Hours later, he collapsed at the dinner table. Gripped his stomach and went pale. I screamed, called 911, tried to stay calm for Sophie’s sake. And now, here I am. Watching him whisper another woman’s name in his sleep like a prayer.

I picked up his phone from the side table. Caller ID: “My Beloved.” The screen dimmed.

Then lit up again, a text this time. “Have you and your wife divorced yet? Don’t lie. I’m already in the city. I miss you. I need to see you.” I stood there, staring at it, numb. There was no punch to the gut. No screaming. Just… silence. Like my soul had curled into a ball and shut down.

I glanced at him one last time, asleep and dreaming of someone else. Then I looked at my reflection in the glass. My eyes were hollow. My skin was sallow. My smile vanished. The first thought that popped in my mind was divorce. However, when I thought of my daughter, my heart broke. How would I explain all this to a little child?

Sophie loved her dad, even though he was hardly ever there. The idea of separation or divorce would tear her apart and as her mother, I would avoid it if I could. But now? Now I am not so sure. Maybe I will wait for him to wake up. Maybe he is just hallucinating. For my daughter's sake, I will wait for his explanation.

I put his phone back on the table. I did not cry. Not even one tear slipped out of my eyes.

But something inside me shifted and cracked, quietly. And I knew then that this was not just betrayal. This was the moment I stopped waiting for him to love me again. This was the moment I realized he never had.Knock. Knock. The sound startled me. My wrecked nerves caused me to drop the phone.