I Saw Two Faces In My Husband’s Heart Chapter 03
Ethan was buried in work in the study.
At eleven-thirty, I carried a mug of warm milk into the room. The door wasn’t entirely latched, and through the gap, I heard his voice. It held a rare, soft tenderness — a tone I hadn’t heard directed at me in a very long time.
“Yeah, get some sleep. We’ll go over it tomorrow… I miss you too.”
He hung up, raising his eyes to find me standing in the doorway. He flinched slightly. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Do you always speak to your subordinates with that much affection?”
“It was just a standard check-in, Chris. You’re overthinking things again.”
I didn’t argue. I simply turned and walked back down the hall, hearing the heavy thud of the study door closing behind me. He had never closed that door before.
I sat awake in the bedroom for twenty minutes until he finally came in.
“Ethan, I need to tell you something,” I said as he removed his watch. “I’ve had a gift since I was a child. Whenever I touch someone, I can see a vision of the person they love most.”
His hands stilled.
“When we were seven and I first held your hand, I saw myself. At eighteen, it was me. When you proposed, it was me. But on the morning of our anniversary, when I adjusted your collar… I saw two faces. Mine, and Amber’s.”
A heavy silence settled over the room. Then, he let out a dry, incredulous laugh.
“You have a vivid imagination, Chris. Have you been spending too much time alone in the house lately?”
“I am not joking. Every word is true.”
The faint smile vanished from his lips. “You’re exhausted, Chris. Maybe it’s time we set up an appointment with a specialist.”
I stood up, crossing the room to grasp his hand. “Let me show you. Right now. Close your eyes, think of the person you care about, and let me tell you who appears.”
He pulled his hand away sharply. The movement wasn’t loud, but it was absolutely final.
“Christina, enough!” His voice sharpened with irritation. “If you have an issue with my assistant, take it up with me. She has a life of her own; don’t drag an innocent employee into your paranoia.”
He grabbed his jacket from the chair and walked out of the house. I stood frozen in the center of the room, my hand still shaped to hold his.
At two in the morning, the front door clicked open. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke as he slipped into bed, trying not to disturb me. I kept my eyes closed, simulating sleep.
He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. His steady breathing brushed against my neck.
I had known this man for twenty-one years. And for the first time, when I searched his heart, I couldn’t find myself at all.
There was only one face left in the vision. Amber’s. My reflection had completely vanished.
I carefully slipped out from under his arm. He murmured a faint objection in his sleep but didn’t wake. Once his breathing evened out, I turned my back to him, staring at the vanity illuminated by the pale moonlight.
Before dawn, I quietly packed a small suitcase and moved into the guest bedroom.
At breakfast, he noticed my slippers resting by the guest door. “Why did you sleep across the hall?”
“I had a bout of insomnia. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Right,” he murmured, his eyes already dropped back to his tablet screen. He didn’t ask anything else.
Three days after moving into the guest room, a routine test confirmed a positive result. A follow-up appointment at the clinic confirmed I was six weeks pregnant.
I slipped the ultrasound printout between the pages of my childhood journal, penning a single line beneath it: [By the time you arrived, your father’s heart was already empty of your mother.]
Later that afternoon, I drove down to the firm to find him. But as my car pulled up to the curb, I saw Ethan walking out of the building.
He stepped toward his car, smoothly opening the passenger door for Amber. She smiled, ducking her head as she slid into the front seat — the seat that had always belonged to me. Before closing the door, he instinctively placed his hand over the frame to protect her head from hitting the edge.
It was a protective reflex he had only ever performed for me.
“Driver,” I said quietly, leaning back into the leather seat. “Take me home.”
My fingers pressed against the stiff edges of the medical folder inside my bag. I didn’t call out to him.
When he returned home that evening, I was waiting in the living room.
“I went by the office today,” I said as he unlaced his shoes.
“Why didn’t you come up?”
“What would I have said if I did?” My voice remained entirely level.
He glanced at me, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his features. “What is it now, Chris?”
“I saw you open the car door for her. I saw you shield her head. You used to tell me that was a habit you only had for me.”
He let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. “Chris, she’s my assistant, and we were heading to an external meeting. Opening a door is basic professional courtesy. You used to be reasonable. You used to be understanding about these things.”
“Reasonable? So because I’m expected to be reasonable, you can replicate every intimate habit we built together for someone else, and I’m simply supposed to smile? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’ve had an incredibly long day at the firm,” he muttered, turning toward the study. “I don’t have the energy for an argument.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
In the past, I might have chosen to overlook the subtle shifts, to preserve the peace. But looking at the closed door, all I felt was a profound, hollow exhaustion.