All Chapters of The wife I forgot to love: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

She made coffee first.Not because she needed it. Because she needed something to do with her hands before she made the call. She filled the kettle and waited for it and poured it and stood at the kitchen counter with the cup in both hands and looked at the rosemary jar on the windowsill.The morning was grey outside. The city was doing its weekday things. She had been awake since five.Cassidy had left at eleven the night before. She had said tell Damian first and Helena had said I know and Cassidy had looked at her for a long moment and then said goodnight and gone. Helena had sat on the sofa for two more hours going over it. Not the information. She had the information. She had been going over what she wanted to say. How she wanted to be on this call. She did not want to be angry. She did not want to be sad. She wanted to be exactly what she was. A woman with information that he needed to receive.She had lain in the dark at two in the morning thinking about the Markov meeting.Thr

He left at six fifteen.He had not slept. He had sat at the kitchen table for two hours after the front door did not open and then he had gone to the study and sat there until four and then he had showered and put on clothes and left the apartment before she was awake. He did not leave a note. He did not make coffee. He just went.The city at six fifteen was doing its early morning things. Delivery vans. A woman walking two dogs. The particular quality of light that happened before the city fully committed to being awake. He drove to Greystone and sat in the car park for forty minutes before the building opened.Camila woke at seven thirty.She lay still for a moment before she opened her eyes. She had heard him leave. She had been awake since five. She had lain in the bedroom with the door closed and listened to him moving through the apartment and then listened to the front door and then lain in the silence that came after it.She got up. She went to the bathroom. She looked at hers

The flat had a way of settling in the evenings that Helena had not expected to like as much as she did. The windows held the last of the light until nearly nine. The rosemary jar caught it from the sill. She had started keeping two things on that sill. The jar and a small photograph she had printed from a set Sione took on the Markov set. Not of the film. Of her in between takes, reading something, not performing anything. She had put it there because she wanted to remember that version of herself. Adrian was on the sofa with his book. He read the way he did everything, which was completely. He did not skim. He did not check his phone. He turned pages at intervals that told her he was actually going in. She liked that about him. She had made a short list in her head, in the early weeks, of the things she liked about Adrian Cole. She had not told him about the list. It was not the kind of thing you said to someone in the early weeks. But it existed. He read completely. He cooked with

Sione called the day before to confirm and he said one thing at the end of the call that she kept thinking about after she hung up. He said just wear what you wear when you are not going anywhere. She had stood in front of her wardrobe for ten minutes that morning anyway. Then she had put on the grey shirt and gone. The studio was not what she expected. No backdrop. No ring lights arranged to make her look like something. Two chairs facing each other at a slight angle. A camera on a tripod. A smaller one on the table beside him. The windows were large and the light came through them without any help and that was all there was to it. Sione was already there. He was a compact, quiet man, the kind of person who took up exactly the space they needed and no more. He said thank you for coming. She said of course. He said sit wherever you are comfortable. She sat. He said how are you. She said I am all right. He looked at her for a moment. He said I know. He said that is not what I am

Three weeks in and she had stopped thinking about the camera. That was the thing Sione had said would happen and she had not believed him. She had thought she would always know it was running. She had thought she was the kind of person who felt a lens the way you felt a draught from an open window, always, even when you stopped paying attention to it. She had been wrong. By the end of the second week she was talking to him the way she talked to Cassidy. Without editing herself first. Without checking the shape of what she was about to say before she let it out. He would ask something and she would just answer it and sometimes she would finish and he would nod and sometimes he would ask a follow up and sometimes he would just let it sit and she had learned that the sitting was intentional. He used silence the way other people used questions. On a Thursday afternoon they had been talking for an hour about the Markov set. About the particular Tuesday that Elena had kept them on a sing