The phone's shrill ring pierced the silence of our bedroom at 2:17 AM. I jolted awake, my heart racing as I reached for Adrian's side of the bed. Cold sheets. Empty.
He'd been gone for hours.
I fumbled for the lamp, squinting against the sudden light. The digital clock glared back at me—another night of solitude.
The phone rang again, insistent. I hesitated before answering.
"Cross residence," I said softly.
"Emma?" Sophia's voice came through, breathless and trembling. "Is Adrian there? I need him."
"He's not here," I replied, my fingers tightening around the receiver. "He's already with you, isn't he?"
A pause. "He left an hour ago. I... I'm having another episode. The nightmares are back."
I closed my eyes, fighting the wave of nausea that had nothing to do with my health. "I'll try his cell phone."
"Please hurry," she whispered. "I can't be alone tonight."
I hung up and dialed Adrian's number. Straight to voicemail.
"He's probably driving," I told the empty room, my voice echoing slightly.
Downstairs, I made tea I didn't want and sat at the kitchen island, watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock. Three hours later, at 5:30 AM, Adrian's key turned in the lock.
He looked exhausted, his tie loosened, hair disheveled.
"You're up early," he said flatly, hanging his jacket on the coat rack.
"Sophia called," I said quietly.
"I know." He headed straight for the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a generous glass of scotch. "She had a panic attack."
"You were gone all night."
"I was taking care of her." He drained the glass in one swallow. "She needs me."
I swallowed hard. "And I don't?"
He didn't even look at me as he walked past. "We have nothing to discuss, Emma."
---
Our wedding anniversary arrived on a Tuesday. I woke early, determined to make the day special despite everything.
I spent hours preparing Adrian's favorite breakfast—eggs Benedict with smoked salmon. I arranged fresh flowers in the dining room and found a small gift: a vintage fountain pen I'd discovered in an antique shop downtown.
"Mrs. Cross," James appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. "Mr. Cross has already left for work."
"He'll be back for dinner, though?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
James shifted uncomfortably. "I believe he mentioned a late meeting."
I nodded, forcing a smile. "That's fine. I'll wait up."
By seven o'clock, the candles I'd lit had burned halfway down. By eight, the food had gone cold. By nine, my phone rang.
"Emma?" Sophia's voice, panicked this time. "Adrian isn't answering his phone. I need him right away."
"What's wrong?" I asked automatically.
"I... I can't breathe," she gasped dramatically. "The walls are closing in. Please, find him."
I hung up and tried Adrian's cell. No answer.
Then I remembered—our anniversary. He'd forgotten completely.
I called his office.
"Cross Industries," his secretary answered.
"This is Emma Cross. Is my husband available?"
"Mr. Cross left hours ago, Mrs. Cross. He mentioned something about an emergency at Miss Laurent's apartment."
Of course he did.
I sat alone at the table until midnight, watching the candles gutter in pools of wax.
---
"Adrian, we need to talk."
I cornered him in his study the next morning. He looked up from his laptop, irritation flashing across his face.
"About what?"
"About us. About this marriage." I stood straighter, summoning courage. "About how you're never here."
He leaned back in his chair, regarding me with cold detachment. "What exactly is the problem, Emma?"
"The problem is that we're strangers living in the same house," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "The problem is that you spend every night with Sophia while I sit alone wondering if you'll ever come home."
Something flickered in his eyes—annoyance, perhaps even anger.
"The problem," he said slowly, each word precise and cutting, "is that you're confusing this arrangement with something it's not."
I flinched as if he'd slapped me.
"We have nothing to discuss," he continued, turning back to his computer. "This is a business arrangement, nothing more. Don't confuse it with something it's not."
"Business arrangement?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper.
"That's all it ever was," he said dismissively. "That's all it ever will be."
---
The charity gala for children's cancer research was held at the Ritz-Carlton ballroom. I'd spent weeks helping organize it, hoping to prove myself useful to Adrian's world.
I wore a simple navy dress that Mrs. Chen had helped me select—elegant but understated. Adrian had barely glanced at me as we arrived, his mind already elsewhere.
Sophia appeared an hour later, stunning in a white gown that made her look like a vision. Adrian's face transformed when he saw her—the cold mask slipping to reveal something softer, warmer.
"Emma," she approached me with a glass of red wine in hand. "You look lovely tonight."
"Thank you," I replied cautiously.
"I'm so sorry about everything," she continued, her voice carrying just enough for nearby guests to hear. "Adrian told me how difficult things have been."
Before I could respond, she gasped dramatically and stumbled forward. The wine splashed across my dress—a crimson stain spreading across the navy fabric.
"Oh my God!" she cried out. "I'm so clumsy! Someone bumped my arm."
Heads turned. Whispers started.
"I'm so sorry," she continued loudly, dabbing ineffectually at my ruined dress with a cocktail napkin. "It was an accident."
Adrian materialized beside her, his hand immediately going to her elbow to steady her.
"Are you alright?" he asked—her, not me.
"I'm fine," she sniffled. "I just feel terrible about Emma's dress."
Adrian's eyes finally found me, cold with accusation. "These things happen," he said flatly.
---
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I sat at my vanity with a small leather-bound journal I'd found in a drawer.
The first page was blank. Waiting.
I picked up my pen and began to write.
"Dear Diary,
"Today marks six months of marriage to Adrian Cross. Six months of lonely nights and colder days. Six months of watching him love someone else while I stand in the shadows.
"I thought I could make him see me. I thought that if I was patient enough, kind enough, that someday he would look at me the way he looks at her.
"Today, I'm not so sure.
"But I need to write it down—all of it. Every hope. Every hurt. Every time he walks away.
"Maybe someday he'll read these pages and understand what he had. What he threw away.
"Maybe someday he'll know that someone loved him enough to bear all this pain.
"Maybe someday will be too late.
"Emma"
I closed the journal and hid it beneath my mattress. My secret testament to a love no one would ever see.
Outside my window, the moon cast silver light across the garden below. Somewhere in the city, Adrian was probably still with her.
I pressed my hand against the cool glass, wondering if anyone had ever felt as invisible as I did in that moment.
The answer came with the morning light—and another of Sophia's emergency calls.
