Chapter 25
Silence greeted Olivia when she walked into the house.
It wasn’t the peaceful kind.
It was chaotic, almost deafening, filling the hollow spaces of her heart with an ache that tears couldn’t cleanse. There was no husband waiting with affection in his eyes, no familiar voice calling her name. No parents asking whether she had eaten, whether she was all right.
No one was waiting at all.
She was meant to be alone. Or perhaps she deserved it.
That was how life worked, wasn’t it? Some people were handed everything: love, certainty, a place to belong. Others learned to live with empty hands. And sometimes, if you were cruelly favored, you were given just enough to hope, but never enough to keep.
She walked into the bedroom she once shared with Clayton.
Her gaze fell to the empty side of the bed where he used to sleep.
How many nights had she lain awake, staring at his back, convincing herself that if she remained there for him, he might wake one morning and see her differently?
That being the last face he saw before sleep and the first he saw at dawn might make him learn to care?
She had clung to the fragile belief that love could grow with time. It hadn’t. Love was not a seed you could force into bloom.
Olivia laughed at herself. She had been na?ve. If he couldn’t love her before, he never would. Certainly not with Caroline around.
She changed into her sleepwear, pulling on one of Clayton’s old oversized shirts he no longer wore. Then, she slid beneath the covers and lay still, staring at the ceiling.
Her thoughts drifted to the life she wanted for her baby. A life utterly unlike her own. A life filled with certainty. A childhood where love was given freely, not begged for.
A simple, happy, ordinary life.
Just before sleep claimed her, she made up her mind.
If fate had written her a cruel story, then she would refuse it. She would fight against circumstance, against loneliness, against whatever stood in her way.
The word "divorce" no longer frightened her.
It would hurt, of course it would. It would be messy, uncomfortable, and painful. But pain was no stranger to her. She had been living with a quieter, lonelier version of it for years.
What truly terrified her was staying. Remaining in a life that rationed affection, that asked her to shrink herself to survive.
So she made the decision.
She would set herself free.
—
Clack… clack.
The sound sliced through the stillness of the night, pulling Olivia from the depths of her dreams.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She noticed the faint outline of Clayton's coat draped over the accent chair where he always left it.
He was home.
As she wondered where he could be, she heard voices just outside her bedroom door. It was faint, but it was enough for her to recognize that one belonged to her husband and the other to Mr. Hilton.
Her heart began to hammer in her ribcage. What was her father doing here at this hour?
She swung her legs over the bed. Her palms pressed over her chest, willing her heart to slow its relentless pounding. She took a step, then another, until she finally reached the slightly opened door.
Through the narrow gap, she could see her father pressing Clayton against the wall, his fists clutching his collar.
“You have to choose!”
Clayton didn’t struggle. He didn’t even try to pry the hand from his collar. His head slightly tilted as he looked down at the older man. “I already did, Mr. Hilton.”
The sentence had barely left his mouth when Mr. Hilton’s fist came swinging.
The crack of knuckles meeting bone followed.
Olivia’s hands flew to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips to smother the scream clawing its way out of her throat.
Every instinct pushed her to burst through the door, but another instinct held her in place.
Clayton fell to the floor with a loud thud. Blood gathered at the corner of his mouth where her adoptive father hit him. He didn’t even look angry.
“You’re making the wrong choice!” Mr. Hilton bellowed, a murderous intent blazing in his eyes.
Clayton slowly pushed himself to his feet. He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
“I know exactly what choice I’m making.” He bit back, fighting the older man's gaze with equal ferocity.
A long, heavy silence settled while the two fought gazes.
“I knew what happened that day… that day when Caroline disappeared.” The words slipped from Mr. Hilton's mouth into a threatening whisper. He clenched his fists at his sides and continued, “You told everyone Caroline fell, that she slipped from the ship. But that isn't what happened, right?”
Clayton said nothing. However, Olivia saw his gaze harden. The muscles along his face trembled faintly as if he were holding something back with sheer force. The man she thought she knew so well was a stranger.
Olivia bit down harder on her lip, and a sharp metallic taste spread across her tongue. For the first time, she saw something raw beneath his usually calm facade.
Guilt.
The unshakable man she had always known seemed to disappear, leaving behind someone painfully human.
Mr. Hilton stepped close enough that his voice no longer needed to rise. “She jumped off that ship because of you.”
“God knows I tried to save her—”
“You didn’t.” Mr. Hilton cut him off. “You didn’t try hard enough!” He shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. “You let go of her hand. You stood there and watched as my daughter fell to her death!”
Clayton didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. His shoulders sagged as though the weight of those words had physically settled on them. He looked defeated.
Mr. Hilton stepped back. He straightened his coat, smoothing the wrinkles from the fabric as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just punched and threatened someone with his words.
Olivia thought it was over. But then he spoke one final time.
“Make the right decision, Clayton. You wouldn’t want my wife or your mother to know that Caroline tried to kill herself because of you. It would break their hearts.”
Then Mr. Hilton was gone in an instant. But his words remained. They reverberated through Olivia’s mind.
She scrambled back toward the bed. By the time Clayton’s footsteps approached the bedroom door, she had already pulled the blanket up and squeezed her eyes shut.
She kept her breathing even as if she had never woken at all. When Clayton entered, the room felt different.
The mattress dipped when he sat on the edge of the bed. For a long moment, he didn’t lie down. He simply sat there. She could almost feel his gaze on her back.
Then finally, the mattress moved again as he slid beneath the covers. His warmth settled beside her, his arm brushing faintly against hers.
His breathing was steady. But Olivia knew he wasn’t asleep. Because neither was she. She squeezed her eyes shut, but sleep wouldn’t come. The words Mr. Hilton said echoed like a broken record lodged inside her skull. Caroline jumped because of you, Clayton…
Olivia wanted to ask him the question, What happened that night? But the words refused to leave her mouth. Because asking meant admitting she had been at the door, eavesdropping on something she wasn't supposed to listen to.
She squeezed her eyes tighter until she saw starbursts behind her eyelids. Opening them meant facing the questions waiting in the dark. And right now, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answers from him.
—
The shrill cry of the alarm sliced through the early morning. Olivia jerked upright before the second ring could sound. Her hand shot across the nightstand where her phone lay still and swiped the screen.
The room fell silent at last.
She sat on the edge of the bed, strands of hair clinging to her face.
Clayton lay with his back to her. Olivia couldn't tell if he was asleep or if he slept at all.
She slid carefully from the bed, keeping the mattress from dipping too much, and made her way to the kitchen to make breakfast for both of them.
An hour later, the table was set and breakfast was ready.
All that remained was for Clayton to wake up.
Olivia returned to their bedroom to prepare for work.
She took a bath, brushed her teeth, and dried her hair before tying it into a neat bun.
Once finished, she emerged from the bathroom to find her husband gone from the bed.
He must have walked downstairs to the kitchen, she thought with a shrug, then slid into her uniform.
The scent of fresh coffee permeated her nostrils when she stepped into the kitchen. Clayton stood by the counter with his back to her, pouring coffee into two cups.
Morning light spilled through the window, catching in his hair and tracing the broad line of his shoulders. There wasn’t a hint of fatigue in him, as if the night had given him every hour of rest it owed.
Meanwhile, Olivia felt like she was barely holding herself together.
The smell of coffee curled through the air, making her stomach twist. She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard.
He turned when he sensed her presence. Without a word, he picked up one of the mugs and held it out. Olivia accepted it and took her seat at the table, opposite him.
The smell of coffee still turned her stomach. She kept her face composed and lifted the cup anyway, letting it hover near her lips without drinking before putting it down on the table.
Olivia noticed the fresh purple bruise on the corner of his lip where her adoptive father had hit him.
“You’re hurt,” she remarked with feigned surprise while surveying his busted lip. It looked really swollen.
“I got punched last night.” His tone carried the same casual ease he used when talking about the weather.
Her temples scrunched into a frown. “Punched?”
He reached for a slice of toast and took a bite. Without meeting her eyes, he answered, “Just a little misunderstanding. Some drunk thought I was someone else.” The lie slipped out of his mouth.
“I see,” Olivia murmured. “Well… I’m glad you’re okay.”
The rest of breakfast went on quietly. Olivia kept her gaze on her plate. If she looked at him for too long, she feared the questions crowding her mind might slip out before she could stop them.
She looked down, speared a piece of egg and brought it to her mouth, chewing slowly despite the nausea twisting in her stomach.
“You’ve been quiet this morning.”
Olivia flinched.
He was far too observant for her own good.
She mustered her strength to lift her head but didn't meet his gaze. “I have a critical surgery today,” she answered. “I guess I’m just not in the mood because of that.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. The operation waiting for her at the hospital was complicated. Everyone expected her to succeed, as she always did. The pressure mounting on her shoulders had become unbearable.
She quickly finished her food and made her way to the sink, where she emptied her mug and dumped the plate for Clayton to wash later before he left for work.
“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” Clayton offered. He was already on his feet, but she shook her head.
“That’s okay. I can take my car.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, already making her way to the door. The schedule she had that day ran through her mind: endless rounds, surgery, etc.
“You take care.”
Olivia heard the words loud and clear before she closed the door, but she didn't look back.
—
When Mrs. Hilton asked Olivia to join the family for a late lunch, she thought it was a good idea to accept the invitation. Perhaps to prove to herself that things between them could still feel normal.
Her adoptive mother greeted her at the door with an elegant smile and a light kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Hilton turned to Clayton, pressing a kiss to his cheek as well. “Thank you for coming.”
Mr. Hilton stood beside the dining table, one hand resting lightly against the back of his chair. He gave Olivia and Clayton a smile. Had Olivia not seen him pin her husband to the wall and punch him hard enough for him to collapse on the floor, she would believe it was genuine.
“Shall we?” Mrs. Hilton said, already turning toward the table.
They took their seats and started lunch. The food was perfect, and the atmosphere wasn’t tense. For a few minutes, it worked. Almost.
“I spoke to the doctor this morning,” Mrs. Hilton said in a high-pitched tone. “Caroline will finally be discharged this week. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Olivia was aware. She was at Caroline's hospital room when her co-doctor shared the good news. Caroline's medical results were positively good. She was healthy enough to be discharged from the hospital.
Just like that, Mrs. Hilton began her endless babble, slipping Caroline’s name into every topic. Olivia lost track of how many times it had been brought up. There were too many to count.
Mr. Hilton noticed the shift in her mood immediately, as though he'd been watching her the whole time, waiting for her to slip. “Olivia, you’ve hardly touched your food.”
Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. She felt the panic rise instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered under her breath. “I guess I’m still full. We had a birthday at the hospital earlier and ate a lot before coming here.”
“You should eat more. You're as thin as a twig.” Mrs. Hilton gave Olivia a reprimanding look before changing the topic. “Caroline’s welcome back party is around the corner. Would you be attending, Clayton?”
Clayton gave a nod and a faint smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Mrs. Hilton’s face lit up instantly, her satisfaction barely contained. “I knew you’d say that. It will mean everything to her.”
Her gaze flicked toward Olivia. “And you? You’ll be there too, won’t you, Olivia?”
“Of course, I would be coming.” She replied.
“Good.” Mrs. Hilton smiled. Something flickered in her eyes, an emotion Olivia couldn't name, but it made her fingers cold. “I'm glad.”
A familiar tightness began to spread in Olivia's chest.
She didn't like this feeling.
It always came right before something slipped beyond her control. It was the same quiet dread that crept in before something she cherishes falls apart.