All Chapters of The Perfect Wife Walked Away: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Alice’s POV“It’s nearly your bedtime,” I told her in matter-of-fact tones, brushing off her outburst.Camilla cried, “I’m calling Aunt Lily!” She spun around, and ran upstairs, her little feet thudding heavily, all the way up.I didn’t stop her. I didn’t even sigh.It was a little later when I heard movement at the door. David was home.He wasted no time helping himself to the desserts our cook had prepared earlier. He sat on the couch, took his first bite — then stopped.He tilted his head, looking at me more closely. “This one,” he said slowly, “you didn’t make it, did you?”So, he could tell. Which meant that all these years, he hadn’t been oblivious to my efforts. He’d just been comfortable treating everything I did, as a given.“You…” He looked at me again, his tone softening. “Are you feeling any better, Alice?”As he spoke, he stood and walked toward me, his hand lifting instinctively, like he was about to check my forehead.I stepped back before he could touch me, turning my

Alice’s POVIt wasn’t the silence of withholding consent; it was silence by exhaustion.The kind that seeps out of your bones. The kind that makes explaining feel pointless, arguing feel humiliating, and defending yourself feel like begging for a verdict that’s already been decided.In his mind, the conclusion was set. Any adverse emotion I showed would be filed neatly under overreacting, immature, or jealous.He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating lightly against my skin, like he was amused by my ‘little mood.’ Like he was confident a few words — maybe a touch — would smooth everything over.“She matters to me,” he said calmly. Casually. As if stating a basic law of nature. “And I don’t want you having jealous feelings about this.”It wasn’t an explanation. It wasn’t reassurance. It wasn’t even a request. It was a declaration.He was telling me that Lily’s place — her importance — was non-negotiable. Something I was expected to accept without protest. That my feelings, my posi

Alice’s POVI lay there for a while.My phone rested quietly on the nightstand — no missed calls, no unread messages. David had always been like this. When he left, he never explained. He never felt the need to.I went downstairs and poured myself a cup of coffee then sank into an armchair in the lounge. That’s when I heard footsteps on the stairs.I looked up. Lily was coming down, a children’s book in her hand. The Little Prince. Camilla’s favorite.The cover was worn, the corners curled — evidence of countless nights I’d spent reading it aloud, to my daughter’s delight.Lily spoke first, calm and unhurried, with the ease of someone who already belonged. “I didn’t realise you were still awake. I just put Camilla back to bed. She wasn’t sleeping well.”She paused deliberately, her eyes flicking over my face, as if waiting to see whether I would crack.“But it’s fine,” she continued lightly. “I told her a story and she settled down. Children just need a little extra patience. And gen

Alice’s POVMy phone rang deep into the night. I sat up in the bed. The sound felt wrong — too loud, too sudden. I answered with a disturbed feeling that I couldn’t explain.“Are you David Newcombe’s wife?” The man on the line sounded polite, professional.“This is the Hilton Hotel. Your husband is intoxicated. He’s currently holding onto one of our male staff members, calling out your name — Alice — and insisting on going home. We found your contact information in his wallet. Would you be able to come in?”For a moment, everything inside me dropped. “Please, just get him a room,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”I dressed, went downstairs and woke the housekeeper, telling her that I was going to be out, and to watch Camilla for me until I got back.I grabbed my purse and my coat.Streetlights slipped past the car’s windscreen one by one, but my thoughts refused to line up. David almost never lost control. He drank, yes — but not like this. Not to t

Alice’s POVHe let out a quiet, self-mocking breath. Then he reached for his clothes, crumpled on the floor. He started to dress, buttoned his shirt — slowly, one button at a time.His fingers had become steady. More controlled. As if the man who had just clung to me, unravelled in my arms, needy and almost boyish, had never existed at all. A remarkable transformation.For a second, I honestly wondered if I’d imagined him being vulnerable.“Yeah,” he said finally. His voice had already shifted; back to that familiar low, contained tone. Professional. Detached. Almost ironic. “I shouldn’t have pushed you when I was like that.”It sounded considerate. Reasonable. But what I heard was retreat. Damage control.He was sealing off the moment, cleanly, efficiently, and putting me back where I belonged: somewhere safe, distant, and irrelevant.The room went quiet. He didn’t look at me. As he dressed, his gaze hovered somewhere near the nightstand, unfocused, like he was doing mental math or r