His Mute Wife: He Can't Sleep After She Left Mga Nobela at Kwento

I know because I watched the clock. Twelve minutes in which the woman my husband said he loved lay alone in the marriage bed while he was down the hall, and the woman he was actually giving his life to laughed low and soft through a wall, and the blind wife who wasn't blind lay very still and turned all of it into cold storage.

Calvin Yale, my husband, didn't visit me even a single time before I died. It wasn't until three days after I had died that he bothered to step into his stepmother, Margaret Sommer's ward. "Where's Clarissa? Get her out here now," Calvin ordered. Margaret lay in the hospital bed, her pale eyes dull and lifeless. She mumbled, "Clare's dead." Calvin furrowed his brow and scoffed. "You're saying someone like her, who's always fighting to stay alive, would actually die? Did she find out Jenna lost vision in her right eye and needed her help, so she went and hid?"

The sound of the lock clicking into place shattered whatever hope I had left. He turned around slowly. Predatory. Unblinking. I backed away, bumping into the dresser behind me. "Axel," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “I’m your wife… Your wife. You’re hurting me, you’re scaring me. I’m pregnant—with our child. You need to snap out of this.” No response. Just his chest rising and falling, and the room growing smaller. "I love you," I said through sobs, "you love me. Please remember who you are—please come back to me. I’m so tired, I’m so scared—”

the person said before ending the call. The woman who communicated in Morse code sighed, feeling her eyes sting with impending tears. Remembering how her husband professed love to his mistress was painful. She walked slowly to her room and paused at the large mirror in the hallway. The reflection showed a beautiful woman with slightly wavy brown hair, though her eyes were swollen from sadness. The blue of her eyes was unique, her figure slender—perhaps not as voluptuous as Sophia's, but well-proportioned. The blue-eyed woman was undeniably attractive, if not for the cruel disability caused by a childhood accident that left her mute. She communicated through sign language and Morse code, some

Deleting the message now would do nothing. This isn't making any sense. “Don’t be selfish now, Isobelle. Let your kid meet his family. Plus, do you think Nikolai's family can let you board the flight somewhere to continue living your life knowing you are still married to their son? Not to mention, now that they know about their grandson?”

The room felt thick with tension. Marcus shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his sharp eyes locked on the flickering fire in the fireplace. He clasped his hands tightly as if the gesture could somehow ease the weight of the memories he carried. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and scratchy "My wife left me a long time ago," he started, hesitating to draw a trembling breath. "She lost the baby, and after that, she could no longer stand being with me."

THALIA By the third night of living in Dante's suite, I'd learned a few things about my husband. One, he only slept about three hours a night on a good day. Two, he survived almost entirely on coffee and whatever protein bars he kept stashed in his desk drawer. Three, he pretended he couldn't hear me when I had nightmares but I knew he could because I'd catch him standing in the doorway afterwards, probably just watching to make sure I was okay. It was creepy. But also kind of... not creepy? I didn't know how to feel about it.

Without even looking at me. Just like that, he ended the conversation— leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room, with nothing but the image of my husband and another woman, arm in arm, burned into my mind.

I took off my sunglasses and stared at the lake, ringed by snowy peaks, then drew in a slow breath. "Matteo, I don't have a home anymore." Matteo scoffed, something deadly flashing in his eyes. "Non preoccuparti. As long as I'm still breathing, you've got a home here. In this place, no one lays a hand on you or Luna." Later that night, after I'd tucked Luna in, I played the recording for Matteo. When it was over, he stayed quiet, cleaning his gun as the steel gleamed cold in his gaze.