Chapter 2
Philbert's eyes were distant, like he was staring at an empty shell that had long lost its soul.
"Come on, we've been together for ages. Why the attitude? I'm exhausted. I don't have the energy to coax you," he said.
My hand froze for a moment as I remembered the energetic man he used to be in those photos, a bitter ache twisting in my chest.
Ten years.
Only I truly understood what I was enduring.
In everyone else's eyes, I was Mrs. Wise, living the dream.
But inside, the disappointment I'd been carrying had flooded my heart, leaving nothing but a barren wasteland.
Still, I never doubted he could love. He just gave all of it to Margaret Reese.
"Philbert," I said. My voice was calmer than I thought it would be, without a hint of a tremor or a choke.
"Let's get a divorce. Since you're so into Margaret, I'll get out of the way."
But all I got in response was a long, heavy silence.
Then, his snores filled the room—he was already out cold.
I stared at the chest pad peeking out of his coat pocket, unable to sleep a wink all night.
At five in the morning, the sky in the distance was just starting to turn a pale, washed-out gray.
I checked my ticket for the flight to Iceheim one last time—three days from now—before I barely managed to lie down and close my eyes.
The aurora in Iceheim had been a promise we made to each other when we were young.
When Philbert was twenty-two, he kissed me on the forehead.
He said it would be the most romantic thing in the world.
Now, I was the only one holding that ticket.
I knocked myself on the head, trying to force those rotten promises out of my mind.
Just as I was about to drift off, I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock outside.
Then came the nerve-jangling click-clack of high heels on the floor.
The noise echoed through the hallway and finally settled in the living room.
Mixed in was a familiar, playful giggle and a man's doting murmur.
"Philbert, your place is massive. I wish I could just move in," Margaret chirped.
"You silly thing, you know you're welcome here anytime," Philbert replied, his voice full of affection.
I snapped awake.
Did Philbert really give her a key to our home?
It was like my chest was being ripped open. I could barely catch my breath from the pain.
Honestly, I should've known.
He couldn't even remember my birthday, so why would he remember who should get a key?
I told myself I'd leave it all behind after last night. Yet the tears still slid down my cheeks.
The voices outside kept getting louder.
Margaret's playful, petulant tone made my skin crawl.
"Philbert, listen, my stomach's growling..." Margaret complained in a cute voice.
"Silly girl, did you skip breakfast again?" Philbert said dotingly.
That was youth.
Just a little pout and he'd melt like butter.
"Wait here..." Philbert gave her nose a gentle flick, grinning as he did.
Then he dragged his feet over to the bedroom door, slippers scuffing against the floor.
The light slipping through the crack in the door cast a long, slanted shadow of him across the floor.
"I know you're awake. Margaret's hungry. Get up and fix her something to eat," Philbert said.
His voice was icy, like I was just the help, someone who didn't matter.
Just another day, really.
I didn't budge, just buried my face deeper in the pillow.
For a split second, it felt like the air outside the door turned to ice.
The next thing I knew, he grabbed me and hauled me upright, no warning.
My pajamas ripped, leaving me dangerously close to being exposed.
"Philbert, are you crazy?" I yelled.
I struggled, but his grip on my wrist just got even tighter.
"Let go! You're hurting me," I cried.
His eyes were icy cold, and he didn't loosen his hold one bit.
"Pearl, what's gotten into you? Didn't you always make breakfast for me around this time?" Philbert said, his voice icy and matter-of-fact.
Margaret skipped over, clutching the chestnut cake grandma had left behind.
She gave an innocent smile, but there was a smug sparkle in her eyes.
"It's fine, Pearl. If you don't want to cook, that's totally okay," she chirped. "It doesn't really fill me up, but I guess I'll just deal with it."
Philbert gave her cheek a gentle squeeze, his tone softening. "No way, this stuff is just junk. You can't call that breakfast."
I bit down hard on my lip, just had to watch as he tossed the chestnut cake right into the trash can.
That was it. Something inside me just snapped.
"Fine, you're hungry? I'll make you something," I said, my voice cold and flat.
I threw the covers off, my bare feet hitting the freezing floor.
Ignoring the way they were both staring at me, I strode straight into the kitchen.
Philbert's eyes lingered on my bare feet.
He looked like he was about to say something, but held back and stayed silent.