Chapter 11
Brandon sat on the couch, eyes fixed on the divorce certificate resting on the coffee table.
The living room lights were off. Outside, the rain poured down in sheets, slamming against the windows in a
chaotic rhythm.
He reached for the cigarette pack–empty. With a sigh, he crumpled the box and tossed it into the trash can.
Inside, alongside the box, was a half–full cup of cold coffee–leftover from a morning he couldn’t even remember. Evelyn had made it before he left the house.
“You’ve got a weak stomach. Go easy on the caffeine.”
She’d said it with that worried look in her eyes.
He’d taken a few sips. Poured the rest down the sink.
Now that he thought about it, she was always saying things like that.
“Don’t stay up too late,” “Don’t skip meals,” “Lay off the alcohol.”
He used to find it annoying. Thought she was nagging.
But now, in the dead silence of the house, he would’ve given anything to hear her say just one of those
things again.
Just one more time.
The wheels of a chair clacked softly against the wooden floor. Mrs. Caldwell rolled in from upstairs.
She glanced at the divorce certificate on the table. The corners of her lips twitched, like she was trying not to
smile.
“Well, good riddance,” she said as she settled into a seat and picked up her tea. “With a personality like hers, she was never fit for this family anyway.”
Brandon didn’t respond.
“She should’ve left a long time ago,” Mrs. Caldwell continued, patting his hand. “Always walking around like the world owed her something.”
“Mom.” Brandon’s voice was hoarse.
“What? Did I say something wrong?” she snapped, setting her teacup down with a clink. “If she was really so sensible, she wouldn’t have stopped you from answering that call–none of that would’ve happened to
me-”
“That’s enough!” Brandon suddenly roared.
She flinched, nearly dropping her tea.
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He took a shaky breath, his voice lowering. “Please go back to your room.”
Mrs. Caldwell shot him a sharp glare but eventually rolled herself away without another word.
Silence fell again.
Brandon leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.
He thought of yesterday–of Evelyn standing quietly in the corner at the wedding. Watching as he walked
down the aisle hand–in–hand with Vanessa.
She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t throw a scene.
She just stood there.
And her tears fell, silently.
He’d seen it. It had pierced his heart for a moment.
But then something else distracted him.
Now, in hindsight, had she already made up her mind to leave him by then?
His phone buzzed.
A message from Vanessa: [Brandon, I’m craving porridge. Should I ask the maid to make some soup?]
He didn’t reply.
In the kitchen, Evelyn’s apron still hung by the hook. Light blue, worn soft from countless washes.
She always wore it when making his hangover soup–he came home drunk more often than not.
Once, he’d overdone it. Thrown up all over the bathroom.
She knelt beside him, patting his back while he dry–heaved. He got annoyed, shoved her away. She hit the
sink hard, bruising her waist.
The next morning, when he sobered up, he noticed her flinch as she bent over.
“Does it hurt?” he’d asked.
She shook her head, sliding breakfast toward him. “Eat while it’s hot.”
Brandon suddenly stood, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed that apron.
The fabric was soft. It still held the faintest scent of oil and spice.
He clenched it in his hand… then loosened his grip.
The rain had grown heavier. Water streaked across the windows. Trees outside bent under the force of the wind.
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He stood at the window, staring at his own reflection in the glass.
And then, he remembered.
Evelyn was terrified of thunder.
Every time it stormed, she’d curl up in his arms, burying her face in his chest.
He used to brush her off, pushing her away. “You’re a grown woman–still scared of thunder?”
Now thunder boomed through the empty house.
But no one was there to climb into his arms, trembling.
He fumbled for his phone and dialed her number, heart pounding, as if the connection might stitch something back together.
“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later.”
The mechanical voice repeated itself over and over.
Brandon stood there, listening to the rain and the cold, repetitive beep.
A hollow ache began to bloom in his chest.
He had never truly believed she would leave.
Not her. Not Evelyn.
But she did.
