Chapter 3 Chapter 3
She didn’t bother waiting around for Carl to reappear. Instead, Amelia left the building and walked a few blocks to a little sandwich shop she and Claire had always favored when she was downtown. The place smelled of fresh bread and herbs, a welcome contrast to the sterile scent of office corridors. She ordered her usual — a roasted turkey on sourdough with crisp greens — and took her time eating, enjoying the quiet.
Afterward, she wandered into a few boutiques on the block, drifting between shelves of books, racks of autumn sweaters, and the bright glint of jewelry displays. She didn’t bother bringing Ben along — something she knew she’d have to get used to. Today, she wanted to walk, to get her steps in for the day, even if every stride was in Jimmy Choos.
By the time she returned to the curb outside Carl’s building, his black town car was already parked out front. Ben had eased her own car just behind it. He spotted her approaching and stepped out, moving to take the shopping bags from her hands.
“It’s alright, Ben,” Amelia said, shaking her head with a small smile. “We’re just going to wait for Carl to come out.”
She slid into the back seat, setting the bags beside her, and idly scrolled through her messages while the city moved around them. Outside, she kept one eye on the building’s glass doors, waiting for her husband to appear.
When Carl finally emerged, he spotted Ben immediately and frowned. “Where’s Amelia?” Carl asked.
Ben stepped forward, opening her door. “Right here, sir.”
Amelia slid out of the car, smoothing her coat. “I had lunch since you practically forgot about me,” she said evenly. “Then I stopped in a few shops.”
Carl glanced at the shopping bag in her hand, then back to her face. “You could have waited. I was busy.”
“I noticed,” Amelia said. She gestured toward his car. “Can we ride home together?”
Carl hesitated, then nodded once. “Fine. But you know I like to ride alone — helps me collect my thoughts when I’m not on the phone.”
She turned to Ben. “Thank you, Ben. I’ll ride with Carl.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ben said with a polite nod.
Amelia slid into the back seat beside her husband, deciding not to push further. The city rolled past her window as they headed toward their quiet estate just outside New York.
They didn’t speak much on the ride home. Carl was on another call before the driver had even pulled into traffic. Amelia watched the city lights fade to the soft dark of the suburbs, the tension in her chest refusing to lift.
The wrought-iron gate to their small estate swung open, revealing the maple-lined drive and the warm glow of lights in the windows. When the car stopped in front of the house, Carl ended his call and said, “I’ll be back a little later.”
“I was going to make dinner,” Amelia said. “And I was hoping we could talk over it.”
“I’m not sure what time I’ll be back,” Carl said. “Don’t wait up.”
She nodded once, keeping her expression even. Sweet, caring, graceful — yes. But she wasn’t a pushover. Never had been. She picked her battles with care, and lately Carl simply wasn’t worth the effort. Every conversation ended the same way, with his dismissive tone and half-listening responses. More and more, she was starting to feel like every moment she spent trying to bridge the gap between them was a waste.
Inside, she slipped off her heels in the entryway, lining them neatly on the mat. The quiet here was heavier than the city’s, broken only by the faint hum of the heating system. She passed through the kitchen, where the slow cooker sat on the counter — the pot roast she’d put together that morning filling the air with the comforting scent of rosemary and garlic.
She settled into one end of the sofa in the family room, a cup of chamomile tea within reach and her iPad balanced on her knees. The open event schedule for tomorrow night’s gala glowed on the screen as she typed quick edits, shuffled table assignments, and replied to a string of last-minute cancellations.
The sound of the front door opening again broke her focus. Carl’s footsteps were deliberate, unhurried. He came in without a hello, going straight to the liquor cabinet along the far wall. The clink of crystal and the glug of gin into a glass filled the quiet.
“Carl, can we talk for a minute?” Amelia asked, not looking up from her iPad.
“If this is about work, I’ve had enough of it today,” Carl said, dropping two ice cubes into his glass and swirling them.
“It’s about tomorrow,” Amelia said, keeping her tone calm. “I just want to make sure you remembered — I have the gala in the evening. You put me in Bryson’s office, but I can’t stay late tomorrow night.”
“That thing?” Carl said, his expression faintly amused. “You know those events are just an excuse for rich people to pat themselves on the back, right?”
“It’s for the children’s arts education fund,” Amelia said. “We’ve raised—”
“I’m sure it’s very noble,” Carl said, cutting her off. “But it’s not exactly saving the world, Amelia. Try not to take it so seriously.”
“I take the things I commit to seriously,” Amelia said, setting the iPad aside and reaching for her tea.
“And I take my business seriously,” Carl said. “Which is why I thought you could actually be useful for a couple weeks.”
“Without asking me first?” Amelia asked evenly.
“You’ve got time on your hands,” Carl said with a faint shrug. “And this way you’ll see what real work looks like.”
“Are you hungry?” Amelia asked instead. “I made pot roast. With roasted carrots, potatoes, and the homemade dinner rolls you used to love.”
“Pot roast?” Carl said, making a face. “That’s heavy. And those rolls… you know I don’t eat that kind of bread anymore.”
“They’re the same ones I made when we were first married, you loved them then” Amelia said softly.
“And I was five pounds heavier back then, and besides people change, taste change” Carl said, moving toward the armchair across from her. “I’ll just have a salad.”
She nodded once, not trusting herself to speak without letting the bite slip into her voice. Rising from the sofa, she smoothed her dress and headed for the kitchen, the taste of chamomile lingering faintly in her mouth — bitter now, despite the honey.
After preparing Carl a salad and handing it off to him, Amelia told him she was going to take a shower and that she hoped to see him in bed. He gave a distracted nod, already glancing back at his phone.
Steam still clung to her skin as she stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel before crossing to the vanity. She sat, smoothing body cream into her arms and legs, the faint scent of jasmine rising in the warm air. The house was quiet — too quiet — and Carl was still nowhere to be found.
She slipped into a silk camisole, the cool fabric skimming over her skin, and then propped herself against the pillows with her iPad. The gala’s guest list glowed on the screen, and she scrolled through it one more time, making a few last notes and sending a final email. It was mindless work by now, but it kept her hands busy.
Eventually, she set the tablet on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. The other side of the bed was still untouched, the covers smooth and cool. She stared at it for a long moment before lying back, letting the silence fill the room. Sleep came slowly, the last thing she saw before drifting off was the empty space where her husband should have been.
