Page 16 of The Weight of Her Silence
Not yet.
Instead, she began organizing their medical records. Updated the will. Scheduled appointments around her children’s school events so no one would suspect.
Made casseroles and froze them. Replaced lightbulbs. Took walks with her sister without saying why her legs ached more than they should.
And each time Nate came home late, smelling faintly of sweat and citrus and something else she didn’t recognize anymore… she said nothing.
Because what was the point? Some truths break louder when spoken. Others break quietly, in the way someone stops reaching for you. She still made dinner for him.
That night, it was roasted chicken and rosemary potatoes. He sat across from her and the kids, chewing slowly, watching as she smiled gently when Caleb told a story about his science teacher fainting in class.
Ava barely looked up from her phone. The table was full, but everything between him and Lila felt hollow. A performance. She looked paler lately. Thinner. But he didn’t ask.
He didn’t want to know. Because if she was sick, it would mean something was wrong. And if something was wrong, it meant he’d failed her in more ways than just betrayal.
Chapter 15
Things Left Unsaid
The letter started with his name. Nate. Just that. Nothing more for a while. The pen hovered in her hand, but the words didn’t come easily. What was there to say to a man who still slept beside her yet felt like a stranger beneath the same roof?
She sat at the old desk in the corner of their bedroom, where she used to write grocery lists and thank-you notes. The lamp cast a soft glow over the page. Outside, the wind was pushing autumn into the trees.
He was still at “work.”
She knew what that meant now. She’d known longer than she admitted—to herself, or to anyone else. The signs had always been there. She had just chosen to love him more than she loved the truth. But now, with her body growing weaker and her time feeling finite, there was no room for illusion.
This letter wasn’t for confrontation. It was for release.
I don’t know when I started losing you. Maybe it was gradual, like a slow leak from something we didn’t know was cracked. Maybe it was always inevitable, and we justkept painting over the fracture. I used to think love was enough. That if I stayed good and loyal and kind, you would come back to me. But I don’t think you’re mine anymore.
She paused, swallowed the lump in her throat.
Still, I want you to know this. I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. But because I can’t keep carrying the weight of your silence. Or mine.
She folded the page carefully, tucking it into the back of her journal. Then she exhaled—and let go of one more piece of him.
Nate
Camille was barefoot on the hotel balcony, wearing nothing but his shirt and a glass of red wine. The city lights flickered below them like stars trying to compete with her. She was intoxicating in a way that made it easy to forget the life he’d built—and was quietly dismantling.
“You don’t talk about her much,” she said, leaning against the railing, her eyes scanning his face in the low light.
“Lila.”
He stiffened at the name.
“There’s not much to say.”
“I think there is.”
Camille turned toward him, tilting her head.
“You talk about the kids. The house. The job. But not her. Why?”
He didn’t answer. She stepped closer.
“You still love her?”
