Chapter 5
This time, William didn't push her away.
His eyes held guilt and tenderness as he patted her back gently, his voice softening into a comfort I'd never heard him use with me. "Don't cry. Things will get better."
Watching them hold each other, I remembered that William never put his work on hold to travel with me because he was worried I'd be alone.
But here he was, in another state with Sophie.
They sat embraced, and perhaps in another moment, that closeness would deepen.
I closed my eyes. I couldn't bear to watch any longer.
It took William quite a while to coax and soothe Sophie before she finally stopped crying and went to sleep.
Silence reclaimed the bedroom as he sank back onto the sofa by the floor-to-ceiling window and picked up his phone.
The newest WhatsApp message was from Amanda Watson, the housekeeper: [Mrs. Foster left without taking anything at all. Her clothes and toiletries are all still here.]
He replied with a simple "Ok" and said nothing more, but his expression darkened with every passing second.
Amanda quickly sent another message: [Mr. Foster, are you sure Mrs. Foster is away on business? It doesn't feel right to me. She didn't even take that scarf she always brings on trips.]
That scarf was a gift from my father before he went to prison.
With him locked away, I was always worried about him.
Wearing it on trips was my way of keeping him close.
A silly comfort, really.
William knew exactly how much that scarf meant to me.
His brow furrowed as he opened my WhatsApp and checked my social media profiles.
But there was nothing new. No posts, and no messages for him.
A flicker of impatience finally broke through. His fingers hovered over the text box: [Amanda's tidying up. Wondered if you still want that scarf.]
He hesitated, then deleted it and typed something else: [Can't find my watch. Have you seen it?]
Floating above, I stared at the watch, which was clearly still strapped to his wrist.
I remembered the night I died, how he'd left and then come back, knocking on my bedroom door, saying he couldn't find it.
But the watch had never left him.
The whole thing baffled me.
If I didn't know how much he despised me, I might have thought he was just making excuses to talk.
He ended up deleting the message.
In the end, he sent me a medical research document.
Almost immediately, he hit "recall."
Then, with what seemed like forced nonchalance, he sent a follow-up: [Wrong person.]
In the past, I probably would've shot back with a snide remark like, "Losing your memory in your old age?"
But this time, there was only silence.
William stared at the chat window, waiting.
He even checked his internet connection, as if blaming a poor signal for the lack of response.
Seeing this usually stern and composed man act so childishly was almost funny.
And for the first time, it hit me that maybe he did care, just a little.
His phone finally buzzed with a new notification.
The dull look in his eyes vanished instantly as he snatched it up, only for disappointment to wash over his face when he saw the sender was Amanda.
Her message was full of worry: [Mr. Foster, something's really not right here. This study... it doesn't look like Mrs. Foster's doing at all.]
[It's more like a break-in. And you know, even when she was upset, Mrs. Foster always knew how much you valued these books.]
I'd been married to William for a year, but in truth, I'd spent more time with Amanda.
It wasn't surprising she understood me better than he did.
She grew more agitated with each message: [Mr. Foster, you really need to reach Mrs. Foster and come take a proper look!]
[If it's just a fight, that's one thing. If it's a burglary, we can call the police. But what if something's happened to her?]
A sense of unease seemed to finally get through to William.
He stood up abruptly, found my number in his contacts, and was about to call.