Chapter 2 - The Empty House
By midnight, Daniel was standing inside the dark, echoing colonial house in Greenwich that he and Amy had called home.
The house didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a museum of a life that had just ended.
He flicked on the hallway light. The air was still, carrying the faint, familiar scent of lavender and vanilla that always lingered wherever Amy went. He walked into the kitchen. Her phone lay neatly beside the espresso machine, screen facing down. Next to it was her keyring, carrying the little silver house key they had bought together before he made partner at the firm.
On the dining table, her laptop was closed. Beside it sat a small stack of unopened prenatal vitamin bottles and a notebook labeled Baby Notes.
Daniel sank slowly into a chair at the head of the table. The silence of the house pressed down on his shoulders like a lead weight.
He reached out and opened the notebook.
The pages were filled with Amy’s neat, flowing handwriting. October 4: First heartbeat. Sounded like a tiny train. October 12: Talked to Daniel about nursery colors today, but he had a conference call with Tokyo. Decided to wait. November 3: Found a little white crib online. I hope he likes it when he finally slows down.
A sharp, hot pain stabbed behind Daniel’s eyes. He closed the notebook, burying his face in his hands as a dry, choked sob ripped through his throat. He had been so obsessed with closing deals, securing promotions, and climbing corporate ladders that he hadn't even noticed his wife sitting across the room, building a universe all by herself.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, praying—foolishly—that it might be a text from Amy.
Vanessa: Daniel, please call me. We need to figure out how to handle this at the office on Monday. People saw us.
Daniel stared at the screen, a surge of dark, visceral disgust washing over him. He opened his messaging app, blocked Vanessa’s number without a single word of reply, and then opened his corporate email portal.
May you like
He typed out a short, blunt message to the firm’s managing partner: Effective immediately, I am taking an indefinite personal leave of absence. Reassign my portfolio to the senior associates.
He locked his laptop, turned off his phone, and sat alone in the dark kitchen as the winter wind rattled the windowpanes, waiting for a dawn that felt like it would never arrive.
