The house was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet that settled over you like a blanket at night, but the kind that pressed in from all sides, heavy and sharp, making every breath feel louder than it should be.
Elara sat alone at the dining table, the ticking of the wall clock echoing through the vast space like a reminder she could not escape. It almost felt like the silence wanted to gnaw at her, eat her alive, and make her bleed through her own loneliness.
It was her third wedding anniversary.
She had prepared for it carefully, almost desperately. The table was dressed with pale candles and a soft tablecloth she had ironed herself. The cake sat in the center, white and simple, with the words 'Happy Anniversary, my love' written in careful script, surrounded by Andrew's favorite dishes she had cooked since early evening.
She had asked him for just one thing.
To come home tonight.
Not as the CEO of the Lloyd Group. Not as a man buried under meetings and deadlines. Just as her husband, as the man she had married three years ago. The man she had promised to love, support, and stand beside for the rest of her life.
Elara glanced at the clock again.
10:58 p.m.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table. In one hour, it would be over entirely. And tomorrow would come, just like every other day—quiet, empty, and painfully ordinary.
Her anniversaries were always like this. So were her birthdays.
She reached for her phone, hesitated for a second, then dialed Andrew's number.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She swallowed and tried again. And again.
On the fourth attempt, the line finally connected.
"Hello?" Andrew's voice came through, low and distant, the sound of papers shuffling faintly in the background.
"How long will it take, Drew?" she asked softly, feeling like disturbing him was a sin she was committing.
She tried to keep her voice steady, hopeful. "There's only an hour left. You said you'd be home tonight."
There was a pause on the other side before she heard him sigh.
"I lost track of time," he said at last. His tone was calm and detached. "There's still work left at the company. I don't think I'll make it."
Elara's heart dropped at the words.
"Oh," she whispered, though she wasn't sure he heard her. "It's… our anniversary."
"I know," he answered, sounding almost tired, and Elara chewed her bottom lip, unsure what to say anymore.
Before she could say anything else, a voice cut through the call.
"Who is it, Mr. Lloyd?"
It was soft. Sweet. Familiar in a way that made Elara's stomach twist.
The line went dead.
Elara stared at her phone, her reflection faintly visible on the dark screen. For a long moment, she didn't move. Then she placed the phone face down on the table, as if looking at it might shatter something inside her that was already cracking.
She pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply, blinking her eyes furiously to stop herself from crying.
For some reason, she knew he would be busy, just like always.
She just wanted it to be different today. Not because it was their anniversary alone, but...
Her chest ached as her gaze fell on the document lying quietly at the edge of the table.
The document she wanted to show Andrew with all her heart and happiness, a report that was supposed to change their lives forever.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for it.
She had imagined this moment so many times, telling Andrew, watching his expression change, seeing something warm bloom in his eyes.
A baby.
Their baby.
She had thought it might finally bring them closer. That it might carve a place for her in his heart where work and ambition couldn't reach.
The irony made her laugh softly.
The sound broke something inside her.
Without allowing herself to think further, Elara stood up and began packing the food into containers.
She extinguished the remaining candles one by one, the soft hiss sounding almost like a goodbye.
The drive was quiet. The city lights blurred past her windshield as she headed toward the slum on the outskirts of town, a place she had visited so often that the faces there had become more familiar to her than the people in her own home.
Despite the late hour, doors opened as soon as her car stopped.
"Miss Elara!" an elderly woman called out, smiling as she spotted the containers in Elara's arms. "You brought food again?"
Elara nodded, forcing a smile, ensuring her expression didn't give away the pain in her heart. "Is there anyone celebrating something today?" she asked gently.
Before the woman could answer, a little girl ran toward her.
"It's my birthday!" the child exclaimed, then stopped abruptly a few steps away.
Her small hands were dirty, her clothes worn. She glanced down at them, then back up at Elara, hesitation replacing her excitement. She didn't move closer.
The sight struck Elara harder than she expected.
"Come here, sweetheart," Elara said, kneeling down without a second thought. "I have a cake for you."
The girl's eyes lit up immediately, and she squealed in joy.
"Yay!!" Laughter spilled from her lips as she ran off to call her friends.
Soon, a small crowd gathered, their faces glowing with excitement as Elara distributed food and cut the cake using disposable plates.
"May God bless you with endless happiness," the elderly woman said softly. "Any man who marries you would be the luckiest in the world."
The words pierced straight through her.
Elara's smile stiffened for a second before she forced it back on, not wanting the ache in her heart to dim the happiness for the children.
She watched the little girl eat with unrestrained joy. The ache in her chest eased a little, and she realized then that it had become a pattern.
All her special days were spent like this—celebrated with strangers who welcomed her warmth, who looked at her with gratitude instead of indifference.
Usually, it comforted her.
Tonight, it didn't.
"I should go," she said quietly, rising to her feet.
The drive back felt longer.
At a red light, her gaze drifted upward, landing on a massive digital billboard flashing the evening's headlines.
Her breath caught.
The image on the screen was unmistakable.
A man in a tailored suit, his expression tense with worry, carrying a woman in his arms as reporters swarmed around them. He held her carefully, protectively, as if nothing else in the world mattered.
The headline flashed beneath the image.
#CEO of Lloyd Group rushes his woman to the hospital.
#The CEO's woman revealed
#Sprained foot sparks concern.
Elara's hands shook as she picked up her phone and searched the headlines, her fingers trembling as she read the articles and saw the same image with different angles.
Her heart resisted at first, desperate to deny what her eyes were showing her. But reality didn't bend to hope.
She stared at the screen.
At Andrew's face.
The concern in his eyes, the tightness of his grip—she had never seen that expression before, not for her, at least.
She remembered the night she had collapsed from food poisoning, curled up on the bathroom floor in pain. She had called him then too.
"Don't bother me for such small matters," he had said.
He sent his secretary instead.
She might have died that night if help hadn't come in time.
And now he was carrying another woman for a sprained foot.
She had always told herself Andrew was incapable of love. That emotion distracted him from his work, but now she realized she always lied to herself.
He was capable.
Just not for her.
Elara clenched her phone tightly.
The traffic light turned green, but for a few seconds, Elara couldn't find herself to move.
As the billboard faded to the next headline, she noticed how the clock on her dashboard blinked.
12:01 a.m.
Her anniversary was over.
And she realized with terrifying clarity that her life was about to shatter.