Todos os capítulos de FORSAKEN WIFE, NOW A BILLIONAIRE'S GREATEST REGRET: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

The silence Arthur left in his wake was different from the one after the warehouse. That had been a silence of shared trauma, a chasm of mutual pain. This was a silence of misunderstanding, a gulf of perceived betrayal that felt, in some ways, more dangerous.I didn't follow him. There were no words that wouldn't sound like a defense, and a defense would only confirm his fears. Instead, I went to our bedroom, the room we had shared for forty years, and felt like a stranger in it. He was right, of course. Lance had been in love with me once. And a part of me, the ambitious, fierce young lawyer I had been, had been drawn to that—to the danger and the validation he represented. But that woman was a ghost. Wasn't she?The next few days were a masterclass in polite distance. We were courteous, discussing schedules, grandchildren, the weather. But the easy companionship, the silent language of a long marriage, had gone mute. He’d retreat to his study after dinner; I’d bury myself in a book.

The long, steady tone of the heart monitor seemed to suck all other sound from the room. It was a full stop, a period at the end of Lorenzo Esposito’s bitter, vengeful life. But the silence that followed was not one of closure. It was heavy, pregnant with the poison of his final words.I have another grandson. He just likes to break things.Arthur’s hand in mine was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly gone soft at the edges. Michael, his face a granite mask, was already on his phone, his voice a low, urgent murmur as he relayed the new threat to his team.We walked out of the hospice into the bland afternoon light. The air didn’t feel clean. It felt contaminated.“He was lying,” Arthur said, his voice tight as he opened the car door for me. “A final twist of the knife. He wanted to leave us looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”I slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin. “Was he? He admitted to the hospital fire. That was a truth he

The sound of the closing door was the loudest silence I had ever heard. It echoed through the grand, empty spaces of the house, a final, brutal period at the end of our story. I didn’t move. I sat on the sofa, the imprint of Arthur’s weight still beside me, and watched the afternoon light slide across the floor until it faded into dusk.Michael found me there hours later. He didn’t speak. He simply went to the kitchen, made a pot of tea, and brought me a cup, placing it on the table in front of me. The simple, human kindness of the gesture undid me. A sob tore from my throat, harsh and ugly in the quiet room. I cried for the boy I had met a lifetime ago, for the man who had held my hand through hell, for the future we would never have. I cried for the terrible, lonely victory I had won.The days that followed were a monochrome blur. LJ came, his face a mirror of my own grief and confusion.“He just left?” he kept asking, as if repetition could make it make sense. “He didn’t even say g

The clarity that followed Lance’s visit was as sharp and bracing as a winter morning. He hadn't offered comfort; he’d administered a truth serum, and the poison of self-pity was finally purged from my system. I looked at the key on my desk, no longer a object of dread, but a piece of evidence in a case I was now ready to close.My first call was to Maria at the foundation. “I’m coming back,” I said, my voice firm. “Schedule a full board meeting for tomorrow. It’s time for a new initiative.”Next, I called LJ. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” I told him. “I’m alright now. And I need your help with something.”When he arrived, his worry was palpable. “Mom, what’s going on?”I handed him the key and told him about the storage unit. His face cycled through shock, confusion, and anger. “She sent you this? After everything? What a—”“It doesn’t matter what she is,” I interrupted gently. “What matters is what we do with it. I want you to go to the storage facility. I want you to inventory ever

The sound of the closing door was not a sound, but a cessation of all sound. The world did not simply go quiet; it became a vacuum. I stood in the center of the living room, the ghost of Arthur’s final words—it’s not enough—echoing in the hollow space he had left behind. This was not like his departure to Arizona. That had been a retreat, a desperate bid for survival. This was a surrender. A white flag raised on the entire fifty-year campaign of our marriage.Numbness set in, a thick, insulating layer of shock. I did not cry. I did not collapse. I methodically walked through the house, turning off lights, as if preparing it for a long absence. My mind, usually a whirlwind of strategy and analysis, was a blank, white screen.The phone rang, shattering the silence. Lance. I looked at his name on the caller ID, and for the first time, I felt nothing. No guilt, no obligation, no flicker of the old fire. It was just a name. I let it ring.He called again. And again.On the fifth call, I pi