Chapter 5
At eight that evening, Belika's unsigned draft petition lay on the bed beside me.
I had not packed yet.
I had told myself I was done waiting for Tristan, but one part of me still needed to know what he would do if I asked him to stay.
At 8:17, the front door opened.
Tristan came in with his phone pressed to his ear.
“I told you to get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, then I’ll come home.”
He froze when he saw me.
“Lenora.”
I looked at the phone.
“Sloane?”
He ended the call.
“She’s still not doing well.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I need my laptop.”
The answer hurt more than another lie.
He had not come home for me. He had come back for something he needed before returning to her.
“You promised me dinner.”
“I know how this looks.”
“No. You know how it feels.”
He took a step toward me. “Lenora, please. It’s complicated.”
I did not show him the photographs or repeat every lie.
I asked the only question that still mattered.
“If I asked you to stay tonight, would you?”
He stopped.
His phone vibrated.
Sloane’s name appeared on the screen.
Tristan looked at it, then back at me.
“She’s still not okay,” he said. “I can’t leave her alone tonight.”
“After my third miscarriage, you did.”
His face tightened.
“That was different. You were home.”
Of course it was different.
I was his wife.
I stepped aside.
“I understand.”
Relief crossed his face.
He collected his laptop and returned to the door.
“I’ll come home after she falls asleep,” he said. “We’ll talk then.”
I nodded.
He left without kissing me goodbye.
For the next two hours, I packed slowly.
Just after ten, a dull cramp tightened low in my abdomen. I stopped beside the dresser and waited for it to pass.
Because of my three previous miscarriages, my doctor had scheduled another early check the next morning. I had planned to tell Tristan about the pregnancy over dinner and ask him to come with me.
For one weak second, I reached for my phone.
I wanted my husband.
Then an Instagram notification appeared.
Sloane had posted a story.
Two takeout containers sat on a coffee table. Tristan’s charcoal coat hung over the back of a chair.
Across the bottom, she had written:
Thank you for not leaving me alone tonight.
I stared until the cramp eased.
After my third miscarriage, Tristan had learned to leave me alone.
Tonight, while I stood in our bedroom afraid for another pregnancy he did not even know existed, he was making sure Sloane never had to feel that way.
I closed Instagram.
I did not call him.
Instead, I texted Belika to say I would be leaving tonight, then signed the draft petition.
I packed my passport, medical records, financial documents, the airport photographs, and the ultrasound report.
Before closing the suitcase, I placed one hand over my stomach.
“I won’t let him make us wait for him.”
At 12:42 a.m., I carried the suitcase downstairs.
I placed the signed petition on the dining table, laid the diamond necklace across the first page, and set my wedding ring beside my name.
I took the house key from my key ring and left it on the entry table.
Belika had sent a car for me.
I was halfway to the hotel when my phone began to ring.
Tristan.
I let it ring.
A message appeared.
Lenora, where are you?
Then another.
Why is your ring on the table?
He had finally come home.
I turned off my phone.
This time, I was not there waiting for him.