She gave a tiny shrug, adjusting Isolde in her arms. “Well… maybe she found out. About… us. About Isolde.”
I leaned back in my chair, scoffing. “She doesn’t know. And even if she did, she wouldn’t last out there. She’s blind, Seraphine. No one’s going to help her. She has no job, no family worth mentioning, no money. Just a plain housewife. She’ll come back.”
Seraphine lowered her gaze, swaying Isolde gently, “Still… I don’t know. She might surprise you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You think I can’t handle my own wife?”
She lifted her head slowly, all big eyes and soft tone. “Of course not. You’re… you. I just mean, if she really wants to be gone, maybe forcing her back will only make her resent you more.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t about to debate strategy with her.
By nightfall, my men reported back with nothing. No sightings. No ticket purchases. No car rentals. No one at the station remembered seeing her.
I sat in my study with the divorce papers in front of me, the house quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock. My fingers curled around the edge of the papers until they crumpled.
She thinks she can walk away from me.
It’s just a phase.
She’ll come back.
She always does.
--
Elara'S POV
The air in Italy feels different. Lighter. Cleaner. Or maybe it’s just because I finally left everything behind. Rowan keeps a hand on my elbow as we walk through the quiet hospital corridor. The sound of our footsteps echoes. My fingers are cold, but it’s not from the weather.
We reach the reception desk. Papers slide across the counter.
“Just sign here, Miss,” the nurse says.
I take the pen.
My hand shakes, and I have to steady it with my other hand. I force my voice to be calm. “Where?”
“Bottom right corner.”
The ink scratches against the paper. My name. My consent. My choice.
The doctor’s voice is warm, but firm. “The surgery will take a few hours. You will be under anesthesia. When you wake up, you’ll still have the bandages on for at least two days. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Doctor,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.
Rowan leans closer. “I’ll be here the whole time. You’ll be fine, Elara.”
I nod. I have to be fine.
They wheel me into the operating room. The air smells faintly of disinfectant. I hear the metallic clink of tools being arranged, the low hum of machines. A nurse touches my hand.
“You’re safe,” she whispers.
The anesthesia takes me quickly.