Held in Silence

The moment the car pulled into the driveway, I felt it — that invisible weight.

It pressed down on my chest, reminded me that whatever small progress we made in the city now had to survive this place. The marble floors. The locked doors. The silences.

We hadn't spoken much on the flight back.

But it wasn't cold.

Just quiet again — though this time, it felt more like a pause than a retreat.

A space between two breaths.

I rolled my suitcase inside while Richard paused to speak to one of the estate managers. My steps echoed faintly through the hall.

Same walls.

Same arrangement of furniture.

Same faint scent of flowers I hadn't touched.

But something was different.

I was.

My aunt called not five minutes after I'd stepped inside.

"Lara, where have you been?" she demanded. "You didn't answer my last message."

"I was away for work," I replied, already too tired to explain. "Is everything alright?"

"There's no milk here," she snapped. "And you know I can't go up and down the stairs too many times."

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"You could've called the delivery service."

"You're the one who left me here with nothing, Lara."

"I'm not your maid," I said quietly.

Silence.

Sharp. Heavy.

Then: "Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm not your maid."

Another pause.

"You've changed," she muttered.

Maybe I had

Maybe I finally had to.

I spent the next hour unpacking slowly, letting the house fold around me again.

A knock on my door interrupted the rhythm.

It was Richard.

Still in his travel clothes, jacket slung over one arm, his expression unreadable.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

I stepped aside to let him in.

He didn't sit. Just stood near the window, hands in his pockets.

"My father wants us at the next board meeting," he said. "As a couple."

I blinked. "Why now?"

"Because there's been talk. Whispers about the marriage. About your past. About Evan."

My stomach twisted. "What do they think?"

"That I married you for PR. That it's falling apart already."

I laughed, bitter. "And they're wrong?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch.

"You handled yourself well on the trip," he said instead. "Better than I expected."

I stared at him. "That's the compliment? I didn't cause a scene?"

He looked at me then — really looked — and the tension softened just slightly.

"No," he said. "The compliment is that I missed you when you weren't beside me."

My heart stuttered.

But I didn't let it show.

"You have a strange way of showing it."

"I'm trying," he said.

And maybe he was.

But trying wasn't always enough.

That night, I stood at the mirror brushing my hair, the quiet around me stretching long and unbroken.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Evan:

Still thinking about that day. You looked like you were breathing for the first time. I hope you keep choosing yourself.

I stared at the message.

No response.

But something in me shifted.

Because Evan — for all his flaws — saw something I hadn't: That I was finally living.

And that made me feel more seen than Richard's compliments ever had.

I walked into Richard's study after ten.

He looked up from his laptop, surprised.

"I need to ask you something," I said.

He gestured for me to sit, but I stayed standing.

"If your father asked you to divorce me tomorrow, what would you do?"

The question hung in the air like fog.

He stood, slowly, folding the screen of his laptop shut.

Then he walked toward me, stopping just close enough for his presence to fill the room.

"I wouldn't," he said.

"Because of the company?"

"No," he replied. "Because I've already left enough people behind. I won't add you to that list."

I didn't believe him entirely.

But I wanted to.

And sometimes, that's all love begins as — a want you don't know what to do with yet.

Later, as I climbed into bed, I glanced toward the door again.

Still closed.

Still separate.

But this time, I didn't feel entirely alone behind it.