After Three Years Of Silent Marriage Novels & Stories

“I think I arrived here a long time ago.” The silence that followed stretched between them. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Unavoidable. And for the first time in three years, Adrian looked at his wife and realized he had absolutely no idea how long she had been standing there alone.

Her phone slipped through her fingers and falling onto the desk as the audio continued to play the horrific sound of slapping flesh, grunts and moans for an endless second before the call abruptly disconnected. The room went deathly silent again, but the sound of it still rang in Emma's ears, her hands wouldn't stop trembling. Despite their loveless marriage, Noah had never disrespected her by cheating on her... or at least, she had stupidly believed so. What man of Noah's status would remain celibate for 3 years?

It was exactly three years ago. The day I married Aziel Lockwood. The phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a soft thud. I backed away until my shoulders hit the wall, sliding down to the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest as a wave of memories crashed over me. Two lifetimes collided in my brain. I remembered the next three years of this marriage. The silence of the Lockwood estate. Aziel’s icy stares and locked doors. I remembered crying myself to sleep, wondering why my husband hated me, wondering why I was never good enough.

NILAH The heavy steel door slammed shut behind him, cutting off his voice completely. The office went dead silent. The three-year war that had quietly destroyed my marriage, caused my accident, and threatened my life was officially over. The hidden strings had been completely cut, and Adrian was never coming back.

The number hung in the air between us. "The marriage contract is for three years minimum," my father explained. "Play the role of Julian Blackwood's wife, attend the necessary events, maintain appearances. After three years, you can divorce him and walk away with three million dollars. Tax-free. Enough to start whatever life you want, anywhere in the world." I stared at the folder, my mind racing. Three million dollars. That was freedom. Real freedom, not the scraping, desperate kind I had been planning. With that money, I could go to graduate school, start a business, and never depend on anyone again.

“So it's true.? Grace asked. I took a deep breath and nodded subtly. They bursted into a roaring and mocking laughter. " "I knew this marriage wasn't going to last. Is it even up to three years.? Fiona asked Grace mockingly. “No way.! Just two years and half of "happy married life” Grace replied and they roared in laughter again. A sharp pain tore through my heart and i struggled to contain my anger and tears. " Just let me go.” I mumbled and pushed them away, this time they didn't stop me.

Irreconcilable differences. The phrase felt laughable now. There had been nothing irreconcilable about them. Only neglected. Ignored. Postponed. He signed. The pen felt heavier than it should have. And just like that, the marriage that had lasted three quiet years ended without ceremony. No witnesses. No tears. No applause. Just silence. --- She found out the divorce was finalized through an email notification. She stared at the screen for a long moment, waiting for something to rise inside her.

Giving me that quiet space he always knew I needed, even before I did. Neither of us spoke for a while. The silence between us was heavier than it used to be. Or maybe I was heavier now. With pain. With rage. With disappointment too deep to cry out anymore. Then, softly, like a breath, I whispered, “He’s married, Calvin.” His hand reached for mine.

Raw. For five long years, Elias had held back. Our wedding night had been almost mechanical, he made me come twice, but there had been no intimacy, no connection. He hadn’t looked at me, hadn’t said a word. Once it was over, he had left, and that was the last time we touched.

Three years ago, I was barely breathing after Richard’s first betrayal, still stupidly hopeful that love—our love—could be salvaged. Now the world thinks I’m some tragic little whore who faked her death after she was caught embezzling from her company. Christ, how will I dig myself out of this mess? The silence is suffocating. I clutch my hands tightly in my lap, nails digging into my palms. He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. The car ride is quiet, awkward, and tense. The kind of quiet that comes after a slap—or right before one. God, I cannot wait for this farce of a marriage to end.