The Silent Wife Kindle Mga Nobela at Kwento

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.” “I know exactly what I’m saying.” He reached for me, his hand closing around my wrist. “Come here.” I tried to pull away. His grip tightened. “Jason, let go.” “Why?” He pulled me closer. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, thick and sour. “Why won’t you let me touch you? You’re my wife.” “You don’t want to touch me. Go and touch her instead." His eyes narrowed. “Her?” “Your freaking mistress.Get out of my room.”

Just moving. She was not describing my situation directly. She was too careful for that. But she was describing it accurately enough that every sentence landed somewhere specific. "Strength often looks like silence," she said. "That is the part nobody tells you. Everyone admires the silence. Nobody asks what it is costing you." The soup arrived. I wrapped both hands around the bowl and felt the warmth of it and looked at the table.

“Ah, yeah baby. Fuck!" He froze, then reduced his pace as he approached the door where the sound was coming from. “You're so fucking big," a female voice said. “Fuck me harder." Ivan's soul almost left his body. He lifted his eyes to the house number and it was the exact number his mystery wife had sent to him. “Come on, baby. Spread those legs for me," a male voice rang out. Then he heard sounds of skins slapping against each other, moans, groans that sounded like someone was being choked.

I noticed that the comment section beneath the video completely blew up. "Oh, my goodness! You couldn't even make this stuff up if you tried!" "That woman's behavior is utterly despicable! She has a husband at home, yet she used their joint account to pay for a wedding with her side piece!" "That guy's got guts! Good for him!" "That side piece definitely knew she was married, right? How does he still have the nerve to buy gifts for the husband? That's so messed up!" "I hope that horrible woman gets exactly what's coming to her!"

The door closed softly behind him. I stood in the silence of the room for a long moment. Then I walked to the window and looked out at the city. All those lights. All those people. None of them knowing that somewhere in a house with fresh lilies a man was celebrating getting rid of his wife while that wife stood in a hotel room with twelve dollars and a suitcase full of old clothes figuring out what came next. I thought about the locket. I thought about Gloria drawing the curtains. I thought about the way Jason had said Elena is waiting in the car like it was the most natural thing in the world.

" The word wife hit the room like a gunshot and for a moment, the room went completely silent. Then, Xavier turned to look at me slowly. "...Your wife?"

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Sienna lay on her back in the dark, her eyes tracing the ceiling. The rain had stopped, but the silence that followed was louder than any storm. Her husband’s breathing was deep and steady beside her, his back turned. Even when he was home, it always felt like he wasn’t. And she hated how much she was waiting. Waiting for the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Waiting for the shadow that lived in her head now.

It always did when I was close to him. I sat perfectly still, hands folded on my lap like a proper wife. I didn’t look at him, but I felt him. I always did. His presence crawled over my skin like static, warm and cold at the same time. My body ached to touch him. Or be touched by him. But Elias wanted nothing to do with a deaf wife. He never had. Outside, city lights smeared against the tinted windows, blurry streaks of gold and white. My reflection stared back at me, eyes too tired for someone my age, mouth pressed in a straight line, trying not to shake.

To this life. To forever. The moment the heavy wooden door of the honeymoon suite closed behind us with a soft click, I felt Justin’s hand gently graze mine, intertwining our fingers as if claiming me—again, this time as his wife. Our eyes locked. He smiled—no, smirked—as if he already knew the thousand thoughts running in my head. His voice dropped into that deep, velvet tone that never failed to make my knees weak. “Mrs. Smith-Montemayor,” he whispered, pulling me closer until I was pressed against his chest. “That sounds dangerously sexy.”

"Clara... yes, Clara..." He wasn't kissing me. He was kissing someone else entirely. His hands moved across my body, but his mind was somewhere else, with someone else. My sister. I lay beneath him in complete silence, my eyes open in the darkness, staring at nothing. His weight was on top of me, but I felt completely invisible. He finished quickly, rolled away from me, and passed out almost immediately. I lay there in the darkness, not moving, barely breathing. He'd called out another woman's name on our wedding night or was he just mistaking me for Clara?