At 7 p.m., her phone rang.
Adrian’s voice came through — hurried, distracted, unfamiliar.
“Honey, I’m sorry. Something came up. An urgent meeting with a client. I won’t make it home on time. Eat first, okay?”
Clara paused for a moment before answering softly, “Alright… just don’t stay too late.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, and hung up.
No flowers. No greeting. No message after that.
Her chest tightened — that quiet ache only a wife’s intuition could explain.
It wasn’t the first time Adrian had been “busy” on a special night.
Her eyes wandered to the wedding photo on the wall — two smiling faces once full of dreams. Now, only she remained, surrounded by the silence of a love slowly fading.
