Chapter 5
I always thought Edward forgot my birthday because he was busy. Turned out, it was never poor memory on his part. He simply never cared enough to remember anything about me.
I put the photos back in the drawer, exactly as they were. Then I walked out of the study and sat on the couch in the living room, waiting for him to come home.
When Edward came home, he saw me sitting in the dark and frowned. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"
"I forgot to turn on the lights," I replied.
He turned on the lights and noticed my expression. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"
"I'm fine. Edward, can I ask you something?" I said.
"What is it?" he replied.
"Why do you have photos of Stella in your study drawer?" I asked.
His face froze for a moment. "Did you go through my stuff?"
"I saw them by accident," I said.
He was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Those are old photos. I never got around to tossing them."
It was always the same excuse.
"It's been three years. How could you never get around to throwing them out?" I pressed.
"Isabelle—" he started.
"You don't have to explain," I said, standing up. "I wanted an answer. Now I have it."
"What answer?" he asked.
"I now know you didn't forget. You couldn't let them go," I said.
He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he stayed silent.
I went back to the bedroom. The moment I closed the door, my tears finally fell.
This was the second time. I quietly kept count in my heart.
*****
After some time, the drama about Stella's love letters kept trending online. People dug up all the letters to Mr. F from her secret account, stretching from her college days all the way to now. The latest ones were written a few months ago.
One of them read: [I saw him again today. He's still so gentle. He asked how I was doing, and I told him I was fine. But I'm really not. Because you're not here.]
Another one read: [He's married now. I know that. But I can't help myself. Mr. F, are you happy now?]
These love letters blew up online and hit the top trending. The hashtag [Who's Mr. F?] was everywhere. Then, someone uncovered that Mr. F was Edward, CEO of Franklin Group.
The internet went wild. Everyone was calling out Stella for knowingly being the other woman.
Then Edward stepped in. He got his PR team to release a statement: [Mr. Edward Franklin and Ms. Stella Reed's relationship ended before his marriage.
[Ms. Reed's love letters are her own feelings and have nothing to do with Mr. Franklin. Let's all stay calm and not hurt anyone.]
The statement seemed neutral on the surface, but when everyone was tearing Stella apart online, stepping up to say "don't hurt her" was basically defending her.
What really broke me was that Edward never said a single word to me before he released that statement. The first time I saw it was on the news.
When he came home that night, I asked him, "Why didn't you talk to me before putting out that statement?"
He paused for a moment. "I thought you didn't care."
He thought I didn't care. Three years married, and he thought I wouldn't mind if he publicly defended Stella.
"Edward, I'm your wife," I said.
"I know," he replied.
"So why did I have to see you standing up for another woman on the news?" I asked.
"I wasn't trying to defend her, I just—" he started.
"You just what? You just didn't want her to get hurt? And what about me?" I shot back.
He was quiet for a long time. "Isabelle, you don't get it. Back then, I was the one who hurt her. My parents gave her money to make her leave. I owe her."
"So you've spent three years trying to make amends? Are you using our marriage as your way to pay her back?" I demanded.
"No, that's not—" Edward started.
"Then tell me what it is," I pressed.
He didn't answer.
All of a sudden, I felt exhausted, not just physically, but the kind of weariness that sank into my bones and drained me from the inside out.
"Edward, have you ever thought that you owe me something too?" I asked.
He looked up at me, a bit lost in his eyes. "What do I owe you?"
I laughed, even as tears rolled down my cheeks. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."
I turned back to the bedroom.
This was the third time. That was enough. I couldn't take it anymore.