Chapter 2 - Ethan’s Empty Chair
The next morning, I woke before sunrise.
For a few confused seconds, I thought I was back in my rented room.
Then I felt the mattress.
Soft.
Too soft.
Egyptian cotton sheets.
Silence instead of pipes banging behind the wall.
And memory returned.
Cross estate.
Damian.
Vanessa.
Remarriage.
I sat up.
A tray waited outside the bedroom door.
Coffee.
Toast.
Eggs.
Fruit.
For three years, breakfast had usually meant instant coffee and whatever I could eat while waiting for delivery requests.
I carried the tray inside.
Halfway through the coffee, someone knocked.
Not staff.
The knock was hesitant.
Three small taps.
My heart stopped.
I knew that knock.
I opened the door.
Ethan stood there.
He had grown.
That was my first thought.
My second was that he looked too much like Celeste now.
Dark hair falling over his forehead.
Gray-blue eyes.
Thin shoulders.
He wore his school uniform and held one strap of his backpack.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
“Hi,” I whispered.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Then his backpack hit the floor.
He threw himself at me.
I nearly fell.
His arms wrapped around my waist.
“Sophie.”
Not Aunt Sophie.
He had never called me Aunt Sophie.
Just Sophie.
His voice cracked.
I dropped to my knees.
“Oh, Ethan.”
He was crying.
So was I.
“You came back.”
“Yes.”
“Are you leaving again?”
The question destroyed me.
I held his face.
“I don’t know everything yet.”
His expression broke.
“But I’m here now.”
“For how long?”
“I’m marrying Damian again.”
His eyes widened.
“What?”
A laugh burst through his tears.
“For real?”
“For real.”
He hugged me again.
Harder.
Behind him, I saw Damian standing at the far end of the hallway.
He wore a dark suit.
No tie.
His face was unreadable.
But his eyes were not.
He watched Ethan cling to me.
Pain moved across his face.
I wondered how many mornings this child had asked for me.
How many times Damian had answered badly.
Ethan pulled back.
“Did you bring Pepper?”
I blinked.
“Pepper?”
“Your orange cat.”
My heart tightened.
“She died last year.”
“Oh.”
Ethan looked devastated.
“She was fourteen.”
“Still.”
“I know.”
He nodded solemnly.
Then examined me.
“You look different.”
“So do you.”
“You’re skinny.”
I laughed despite myself.
“You’re rude.”
“You used to say honesty isn’t rude.”
“I clearly made mistakes raising you.”
That earned the smile I remembered.
Damian approached.
“Car in fifteen minutes.”
Ethan immediately scowled.
“I’m not going.”
“You have school.”
“Sophie came back.”
“And she’ll still be here after school.”
Ethan looked at me.
Promise?
The word didn't need speaking.
“I’ll be here.”
He studied my face carefully.
Then picked up his backpack.
At the stairs, he turned.
“If he makes you mad, don't leave before I get home.”
My heart broke again.
Damian's expression changed.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“That’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t.”
The child disappeared downstairs.
Silence remained.
I looked at Damian.
“He thinks I left because you made me angry.”
“You did.”
“I left because I thought you cheated.”
“And because I told you to leave.”
“That helped.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“Ethan blamed me.”
“Was he wrong?”
Damian looked toward the stairs.
“No.”
Something in that answer softened me slightly.
“He asked for you every week for the first year.”
I swallowed.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“You told my attorney you wanted no contact.”
“With you.”
“Ethan was legally mine.”
“So you decided that included him.”
“I decided not to use a child to pull you back.”
That answer stopped me.
I had spent three years imagining Damian indifferent.
But perhaps he had been trying, badly, to respect the boundary I built.
“You could have asked.”
“So could you.”
Fair.
I hated that.
At breakfast, Vanessa joined us briefly with a tablet full of schedules.
I sat across from Damian.
She stood beside him.
“Ten o’clock with municipal counsel. Eleven-thirty, Russo. One p.m., port authority lunch. Three o’clock—”
“Cancel three.”
Vanessa paused.
“The security review?”
“Move it.”
“To tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes flicked toward me.
I drank coffee.
Three years ago, I would have noticed the glance.
Now I noticed that Vanessa wore nude lipstick.
Not red.
Interesting.
Maybe meaningless.
“Marriage license appointment is at two,” Damian said.
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“I thought wealthy people had people for that.”
“You still have to appear.”
“Tragic.”
Vanessa’s mouth twitched.
I saw it.
She almost smiled.
That surprised me.
After she left, I asked, “Does she hate me?”
Damian stared.
“What?”
“Vanessa.”
“No.”
“She should.”
“Why?”
“I destroyed half her desk.”
“You destroyed one drawer, a monitor, two folders, and my sculpture.”
“You kept inventory?”
“I remember traumatic experiences.”
I laughed.
The sound made him stare.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Damian.”
“You didn’t laugh much toward the end.”
Neither had he.
“I was twenty-six.”
“You’re twenty-nine.”
“I aged seventy years.”
His expression hardened.
“Because you were poor?”
“Because I became responsible for myself.”
The answer irritated him.
“Being married to me didn't prevent responsibility.”
“No.”
I looked around the dining room.
“It prevented consequences.”
He said nothing.
“I didn't know what rent cost.”
“You didn't need to.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“You were my wife.”
“I was spoiled.”
“I liked taking care of you.”
“I know.”
“And that was wrong?”
“No.”
I paused.
“What was wrong was that I thought being loved meant never needing to stand alone.”
Damian’s gaze stayed on me.
“I stood alone.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“After the divorce, yes, I did.”
“You could have taken the settlement.”
That was true.
His attorneys offered me millions.
I refused everything except what I entered the marriage with.
Pride again.
“I didn't want your money.”
“You would rather deliver food in freezing rain?”
“At twenty-six? Apparently.”
“And now?”
I smiled.
“Now I understand that refusing money doesn't automatically make someone morally superior.”
His mouth almost curved.
“Progress.”
“Don't enjoy it.”
At two, we sat in a county office waiting to apply for a marriage license.
Nobody treated Damian normally.
Clerks straightened.
Security watched him carefully.
A supervisor appeared personally.
I remembered how invisible I had once been beside his power.
Three years later, I noticed something different.
He was tense.
Not because of officials.
Because of me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You keep looking at me.”
“You’re signing papers to marry me and you haven’t asked for anything.”
“What should I ask for?”
“Terms.”
I thought about it.
“Separate bank accounts.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Fine.”
“My consulting income stays mine.”
“You have consulting income?”
“Potential future consulting income.”
His mouth twitched.
“Fine.”
“No private investigators following me.”
Silence.
“Damian.”
“For security—”
“No.”
“Compromise.”
“One security person if there’s a credible threat, and I know about it.”
He considered.
“Fine.”
“No controlling where I work.”
“Fine.”
“No controlling who I see.”
“Within reason.”
I stared.
“Define reason.”
“If you start having dinner with Rafael Moretti—”
“I don't know Rafael Moretti.”
“Good.”
“Damian.”
“Fine.”
I folded my hands.
“One more.”
“What?”
“Separate bedrooms.”
He became still.
The clerk behind the counter pretended not to hear.
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t a real marriage.”
His face changed.
“What is it?”
“An arrangement.”
“You think I asked you back purely for Ethan.”
“You said that.”
“I said he keeps asking for you.”
“And?”
“And I didn't say that was the only reason.”
Something shifted in my chest.
I ignored it.
“What are the other reasons?”
Damian looked toward the clerk.
“Not here.”
“Convenient.”
We signed.
On the drive home, he said nothing for ten minutes.
Then:
“I hated being divorced from you.”
My fingers tightened around my coat.
He continued looking ahead.
“I hated the empty room. I hated people asking if I’d remarry. I hated dinners where nobody interrupted me. I hated that Ethan stopped talking at breakfast because you weren’t there.”
“Damian.”
“I hated seeing your name return to Bennett instead of Cross.”
“That’s possessive.”
“Yes.”
At least he admitted it.
“I looked for you.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Not constantly.”
“How comforting.”
“I checked occasionally.”
“Then you knew where I lived.”
“No. You changed addresses five times.”
Six, actually.
“You knew I worked deliveries?”
“Not until yesterday.”
“Then your intelligence network is overrated.”
His jaw tightened.
“I thought you were working for an event agency.”
“I was.”
“What happened?”
“Company closed.”
“You didn't update LinkedIn.”
I laughed.
“You stalked my LinkedIn?”
“Yes.”
That was so absurdly Damian that I almost smiled.
“Why didn't you call?”
His answer took too long.
“Pride.”
There it was.
The disease that killed our first marriage.
“Mine too.”
He looked at me.
“We were stupid.”
“Yes.”
“Are we still?”
“Probably.”
At the estate, Ethan ran outside before the car completely stopped.
He ignored Damian.
Opened my door.
“Come see my room.”
I spent two hours there.
His old dinosaur decorations were gone.
Basketball posters now covered the walls.
A gaming console.
Books.
A framed photograph beside the bed.
I picked it up.
My breath caught.
It was us.
Ethan at five.
Me behind him.
Flour across both our faces while baking Christmas cookies.
“You kept this?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Damian tried to put it away.”
My head snapped around.
“Ethan.”
Damian stood in the doorway.
“I moved it during renovations.”
“Liar.”
“Watch it.”
“You put it in a drawer.”
“Because you cried every time you looked at it.”
Ethan's anger vanished.
He looked down.
I sat beside him.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
“Maybe.”
I wrapped my arm around him.
He leaned against me.
Damian watched.
Something haunted passed over him.
That evening, dinner felt almost like the old days.
Almost.
Ethan talked constantly.
School.
Basketball.
A teacher he hated.
A girl named Chloe he insisted he did not like.
Vanessa entered halfway through with a folder.
She leaned toward Damian and whispered something.
Three years ago, that would have ruined the evening.
I kept eating.
Damian noticed.
His irritation became almost visible.
Vanessa left.
He waited.
I said nothing.
Finally he asked, “You’re not curious?”
“About?”
“What she said.”
“If it concerns me, you'll tell me.”
His fork stopped.
“It doesn't bother you that she whispers in my ear?”
“No.”
Ethan looked between us.
“Are you fighting?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Damian said.
I stared.
“About what?”
His eyes darkened.
“I’m not sure yet.”
That night, I returned to the east bedroom.
A box waited on the bed.
Inside was my old wedding ring.
The original.
Four-carat diamond.
Platinum.
I stared at it.
Damian stood at the door.
“I kept it.”
“I can see that.”
“You left it on my desk.”
“I remember.”
“You’ll need a ring tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The ceremony.”
“You arranged one already?”
“Ethan wants us married before dinner.”
Of course.
I held the ring between two fingers.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You used to love it.”
“I did.”
“Do you want a different one?”
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
I slipped it onto my finger.
It still fit.
Damian stared.
I waited for emotion.
Joy.
Fear.
Regret.
Instead, I felt the cool weight of platinum.
Familiar.
Not sacred anymore.
Just a ring.
Damian saw it.
That was the problem.
He crossed the room.
“Did you ever miss me?”
The question came quietly.
I looked up.
“Yes.”
Something eased in his face.
“I missed you so much I hated waking up.”
His expression broke slightly.
Then I continued.
“But missing someone doesn't always mean you should go back.”
The relief vanished.
“Then why are you?”
I thought of Ethan.
Warm food.
My debts.
The first full night's sleep I'd had in months.
“Because this time I know what the marriage is.”
Damian stared at me.
“And what is it?”
“A place I can leave if I need to.”
For the first time, I understood why my indifference frightened him more than jealousy ever had.
May you like
The old Sophie believed losing Damian would destroy her.
This Sophie had already survived it.
