Lucas Vale woke up to a silence that didn't feel gentle. It buzzed in his ears, thick and heavy, impossible to ignore. He blinked against the pale light leaking through the curtains.
"Evelyn?" His voice came out rough, still tangled with sleep.
No answer.
He frowned and glanced at the clock. Past seven. She was usually up by now, shuffling quietly around the room, careful not to wake him. Breakfast always ready, coffee brewing, his newspaper waiting right where he liked it.
He sat up. Tried again. "Evelyn."
Nothing.
A flash of irritation crossed his face. Maybe she was still upset about yesterday. Women could be like that—silent, dramatic, waiting for him to make the first move.
He swung his legs out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
Her toothbrush was gone.
He stopped, staring at the empty spot in the holder.
That wasn't right.
Downstairs, the dining room looked all wrong. The table sat bare—no breakfast, no coffee, no folded paper. Just emptiness.
Lucas stood there, scanning the room, half-expecting something to materialize if he waited long enough.
He checked his phone.
Nothing. No texts, no calls.
His frown deepened. She'd left without a word. That wasn't her style.
Or maybe it was.
He shook off the thought and left for work, telling himself she'd cool down by dinner.
At the office, his assistant trailed behind him, tablet in hand.
"Mr. Vale?" She sounded hesitant. "There's a situation with the foundation."
Lucas stopped. "What now?"
"Mrs. Vale—Ms. Hart—has resigned. Effective immediately. She wants her name off all upcoming charity events."
The words hit harder than he expected.
"Why?"
"She listed personal reasons—after the divorce."
Divorce.
He hated that word. Too final.
"She didn't talk to me first?"
"No, sir."
Lucas waved her away. "Fine. Replace her."
But the assistant lingered. "There's more. She's pulled her donor network. Some of the sponsors already followed her."
He went rigid.
"What?"
"They were her relationships, sir."
For the first time that day, a cold feeling settled in his chest.
"I'll handle it," he snapped.
The day blurred—meetings he barely heard, faces he barely saw. Numbers and reports swam together, none of it sticking.
At lunch, he checked his phone again.
Still nothing.
By evening, his annoyance had curdled into something unfamiliar. Restlessness. Maybe even fear.
He left the office early and drove home, city lights flickering past as dusk fell.
The house felt even emptier than that morning. Quiet. Hollow.
He wandered from room to room.
"Evelyn?" He called her name, sharper this time.
Nothing.
He took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for the wardrobe.
More space than before.
He yanked open drawers.
Empty.
Her side of the closet cleared out. Clothes, shoes, jewelry—all gone, except a few things she never wore.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
This wasn't a tantrum.
This was deliberate.
He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.
One ring.
Two.
Voicemail.
He tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
Lucas stared at the screen. Jaw tight.
She'd blocked him.
It landed like a punch.
Evelyn Hart had blocked him.
Across town, Evelyn sat in a glass conference room, sunshine pouring in through the windows.
She wore a cream blouse and black pants, her hair pulled back. Calm. Steady.
"This proposal is impressive," one executive said, flipping through the pages. "Why didn't you bring this to us sooner?"
Evelyn smiled. "I had other priorities."
No need to say more.
The meeting went better than she'd dared hope. Good questions. Real excitement.
Her phone buzzed in her bag as she stood to leave.
She felt it. She knew who it was.
She didn't look.
Later, in the elevator, she checked. Three missed calls.
Lucas.
Her finger hovered over his name.
Then she slipped her phone away.
That part of her story was over.
That night, Lucas stood in his bedroom, staring at the empty spaces where Evelyn's things used to be. He opened the bedside drawer out of habit.
Empty.
She'd taken even the smallest pieces of her life with her—the ones he never noticed, the ones that had quietly become part of his world.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees.
Why did this feel so off?
He'd signed the papers. Agreed to the divorce.
He hadn't lost anything. Or had he?
The house felt colder now. The silence pressed in.
And then, for the first time, a question crept in and shook him.
What if she never comes back?