Chapter 110: Let’s Divorce....
The dinner sits untouched on the table, a silent testament to something that was meant to be shared. Steam rises in lazy spirals from the dishes, carrying the scent of spices and warmth.
I sit motionless, my gaze fixed on Silas as he moves through the room, his steps measured and quiet, his hands arranging plates with a precision that seems almost mechanical. He doesn’t look at me.
He walks back to the kitchen, and my eyes follow him with every step, tracing the line of his shoulders, the quiet weight in his posture.
No expression. No smile.
Just emptiness.
Did he hear Everic and me?
The question burns in my chest, unanswered and unresolved.
After Everic left, the silence that followed was different from the comfortable quiet we’ve shared before.
Silas said nothing. No note. No question. No plea for explanation. He didn’t even look at me.
He simply began setting the table for dinner, as if the conversation had never happened. As if my words hadn’t reached him at all. As if he hadn’t been standing there, holding a glass of water, hearing every word.
He sets the last bowl of soup on the table—a delicate broth, steam curling from its surface—and then, instead of taking his usual seat across from me, he places a folded note in front of me.
His hand lingers for a moment—hesitant, trembling almost imperceptibly—before he pulls away.
I blink. Look down. Pick it up.
I’m not feeling hungry. A little tired. Going to rest in my room. Please eat dinner.
The words are simple. Polite. Distant.
I look up, but he’s already turned away. His back is straight. His steps measured. I stare at the empty space he leaves behind.
Tired?
He’s never said that before.
He’s never left the table without sitting with me. Never watched me eat from across the table with that quiet smile lingering on his lips.
Tonight, he didn’t even look back.
My own words echo in my head—sharp, careless, cruel. It’s my decision whether I keep him or get rid of him. The words land like stones, heavy and cold.
Maybe he heard them.
Of course he heard them.
A frustrated sigh slips from my lips. I press my fingers to my temple, rubbing slow circles against the ache building there.
I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t mean it. It was Everic—pushing me, testing me, pulling at the frayed edges of my patience. And I snapped.
I crumple the note in my fist, the paper soft and warm from my grip. I stand. Walk toward the stairs. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the air itself has thickened around me.
I stop in front of his door. The hallway is bathed in dim golden light, warm but distant, casting long shadows across the polished marble. For a long moment, I simply stare at the closed door, my hand hovering near the handle.
Then I reach for the handle. Twist.
It doesn’t open.
Locked.
For a moment, I simply stare at it. Then I twist the handle again. Nothing.
My brows knit together.
Wait... He locked the door.
I knock.
The sound is small, fragile—yet it seems to fill the silence like a stone dropped into still water.
No answer. No footsteps. No movement from the other side.
Did he fall asleep that quickly?
I knock again—harder this time, the sharp rap of my knuckles against the wood cutting through the silence.
Still nothing. Then—
A shuffle. Soft. Uncertain. A note slides out from beneath the door, a thin strip of white against the dark floor.
I stare at it for a second before bending down to pick it up.
I’m not feeling well. Please leave me alone.
Leave him alone?
The words feel wrong. Unexpected. They don’t sound like Silas at all. I crumple the paper in my fist and throw it aside.
"I’m not going anywhere." My voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it I don’t recognize. "We need to talk. Open the door."
Silence.
I knock again.
"Silas. Open the door."
For a moment, nothing happens. Then another note appears beneath the door. It sits there between us. Waiting.
I pick it up.
Please leave me alone for a while.
Let’s talk tomorrow.
I stare at the paper.
It’s damp in places. The ink has bled slightly, smudged by something wet.
Tears.
He’s crying.
I don’t knock again.
Instead, I hear the faint shuffle of fabric on the other side of the door. A subtle shift of weight. He’s sitting there. Leaning back against the door.
Without a word, I lower myself to the floor too.
My back presses against the wood. The polished marble is cold beneath me, the chill slowly seeping through my clothes.
"Fine." My voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. "If you won’t open the door, I’ll sit here until you do."
No note. No answer. Just the soft, uneven rhythm of breathing on the other side.
For a long moment, we stay like that. Together. Silent.
A door between us.
The silence stretches, heavy and fragile. Finally, I speak.
"Answer me honestly." My voice is low, rough around the edges. "Did you hear my conversation with Everic?"
A pause. I can feel him hesitate on the other side of the door—a breath caught, held, released.
Then a note slides out. I glance beside me, pick it up, and read.
Yes.
I set it aside.
"So that’s why you’re angry." My voice is steady, though something tightens in my chest. "That’s why you won’t open the door."
Silence. Then—the faintest sound. A small, stifled hiccup. I close my eyes and drag a hand down my face.
"Didn’t you say you wouldn’t get angry at me no matter what happens?" I pause. "Open the door. Let’s talk."
Another note appears beneath the door. This time I reach for it immediately.
I’m not angry at you.
I stare at the words for a moment.
"Then why won’t you open the door?"
The silence stretches. Then another note slowly slides out. I pick it up.
The paper is damp beneath my fingers. The ink has blurred in places where tears soaked through the page.
I’m angry at myself.
For forcing you to like me. I just wanted a chance to pursue you. I didn’t mean to make your life harder. Or uncomfortable.
I stare at the words.
I don’t speak. I can’t. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to say.
Another note slides out. His handwriting is shakier now—less certain. More fragile.
If you want a divorce... I’m ready.
Let’s divorce.
Comments