Her Silent Goodbye

After the miscarriage, Isabella Rosedale became exactly the kind of wife Benjamin Astor had always wanted.

She no longer bombarded him with lively stories from her day, nor did she blow up his phone with frantic calls when he stayed out all night. When a scammer staged a fake accident in front of her car and she ended up at the police station, the officers told her she needed a family member to sign for her release. She simply looked at them and said, “I don’t have any family.” Then, with quiet composure, she accepted a week in detention.

Seven days later, the heavy iron gate of the police station clanged open.

Isabella had barely stepped down the concrete stairs when a sleek black Maybach screeched to a halt right in front of her.

The door swung open, and Benjamin stepped out. Dressed in a bespoke suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean waist, he looked as he always did–aloof, noble, and breathtakingly handsome.

In a few swift strides, he was beside her, his brows knitted in concern. “Isabella, why didn’t you call me when you were wronged and needed help?”

She gave a faint, almost wistful smile. “Call you? Was your phone even on?”

That day, she was driving home after work. An old man suddenly crumpled in front of her car. She’d rushed out to help, but he seized her arm and started yelling, “Hit–and–run! This woman hit me and tried to flee!”

Surveillance footage eventually cleared her of any wrongdoing, but protocol dictated a family member’s signature for her release.

She had claimed she was alone in the world, but the police hadn’t bought it. They pulled up her marriage records, found Benjamin’s number, and tried him.

They tried dozens of times, but his phone stayed stubbornly off.

Benjamin’s expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. “Scarlett had stomach pains. I took her to the hospital. She hates noise, so I switched my phone off.”

He paused, voice dropping. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Isabella replied softly. “I never expected you to come anyway.”

Her tone was flat, her eyes empty and unmoving, like a lifeless pond where no breeze could stir a ripple.

Benjamin stared at her for a long moment, then suddenly caught her wrist in his hand.

His palm was searing hot, his grip tight enough to make her wince.

“Why aren’t you angry?” he demanded, searching her face. Beneath the confusion in his eyes lurked something he refused to name–unease, perhaps even dread.

A quiet laugh escaped her, tinged with irony. “Why should I be angry? You explained everything and I get it. There’s nothing to be upset about.”

“Isabella…”

“I’m exhausted,” she said, gently pulling her hand free and stepping around him toward the car. “I just want to go home.”

Benjamin stood rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure.

In just seven days, she seemed to have withered away; her blouse hung loosely off her frame emphasizing her fragile silhouette.

Once, the slightest neglect from him would send her into tears. She’d cling to him, eyes red and pleading, voice trembling. “Benjamin, do you even care about me at all?”

Back then, he’d thought her dramatic and childish.

But now, the crying had stopped. The tantrums had vanished. Whatever he said, she answered with a calm “Okay.” And somehow that obedience left him unsettled, restless in a way he couldn’t explain.

Inside the car, silence reigned.

The driver focused on the road ahead while Isabella sat by the window, gazing at the blur of city lights streaking past.

She no longer did what she used to. Back then, she would steal glances at him, and her eyes would be bright with his reflection. She used to fill every quiet moment with chatter, even if he answered in monosyllables–she could talk enough for both of them.

Now she simply sat, as though the seat beside her were empty.

Finally, Benjamin broke the hush. “Are you still angry about what happened back then?”

She turned to him, expression serene. “No. It’s in the past.”

“Then why…”

“Benjamin,” she cut in gently, “what exactly do you want from me? Should I go back to trailing after you every day like before? Or do you prefer me to be quiet, sensible, and giving you all the freedom you could ever want?”

Benjamin fell silent.

He had wanted this. He had craved a life where she didn’t harass him every time Scarlett called.

But now that he had it, everything felt… wrong.

“I just… you’ve changed,” he murmured.

Isabella turned back to the window.

She thought, Changed?

Maybe.

When you love someone–and when you don’t–you are never the same person.

The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. Benjamin opened his mouth to speak, but his phone cut through the tension.

It was Scarlett.

He answered. Her voice floated through, sweet and coaxing. “Ben, where are you? I went shopping and bought way too much–I can’t carry it all. Come pick me up, pretty please?”

Benjamin glanced at Isabella.

She kept her eyes on the passing streets, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

Irritation flared in his chest. “Scarlett, you’re a grown woman. Stop leaning on me like this. And we’re not together anymore.”

“But you spoiled me for years,” she said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “You never once said no when I asked you to come.”

“That was then,” he replied, voice cooling. “Back when you were my girlfriend. Now I’m married.”

“Married?” She let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Do you actually care about her, Ben? Don’t lie to yourself. If you don’t come, I’ll just find some other guy to help me carry my bags. Plenty of men would jump at the chance.”

Benjamin’s knuckles whitened around the phone.