Deceptive Vows: The Wife's Agony

Late on a Tuesday night, Zacchaeus entered my room nonchalantly, seemingly oblivious to our previous confrontation and the fear it had instilled in me. Perhaps he had indeed forgotten, as he made no attempt to apologize, and I decided to avoid any potential confrontation by leaving him to his own devices. I rarely ventured outside, and this seclusion was taking a toll on my mental clarity. My thoughts became muddled and confusing, causing concern for my own sanity. My parents hadn't reached out to me, and I had no expectation of their visit anytime soon. They were likely ashamed of their actions, and truth be told, I wasn't eager to see them either. Any reminder of my past life was too painful to bear.

A white envelope was tossed onto my bed in a rather careless manner. I wrinkled my nose at the strong scent of alcohol emanating from Zacchaeus as I cautiously picked up the envelope. Inside, I found a plane ticket to Florida, with the departure scheduled for the next day. Perplexed, I looked at him, my voice sounding foreign to my ears after days of little use.

"Why are we leaving?" I inquired, noticing the curt tone in his response.

"We need to get away from the city for a while. Dad thinks it'd be a good idea to visit our family's vacation home since not many people know about it," he explained, and I nodded in understanding. It made sense that our families would want us to vanish for a while, allowing the public interest in our recent high-profile wedding to wane. They had already concocted enough excuses for our absence from events, including our own wedding reception. Florida offered an opportunity for the fervor surrounding our union to settle, paving the way for our eventual return.

As Zacchaeus prepared to leave, he suddenly halted, bending down to pick something up. Curious, I scooted to the edge of my bed to see what had captured his attention. Nervously playing with my fingers, I watched as he retrieved the broken pieces of my phone. The screen bore a prominent crack, and the back exhibited significant dents. I had intentionally rendered it useless to resist the temptation of contacting him or responding to his calls. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on perspective, my inability to recall phone numbers meant slim chances of reaching out to Noel again. Perhaps, in some strange way, it was for the best.

He scrutinized the broken phone, then shifted his gaze to me, seeking an explanation. I nonchalantly shrugged and said, "It fell." He pursed his lips, as if contemplating further inquiry, but then chose to drop the matter. Pocketing my damaged phone, he stated, "I'll get you a new one. I'll take this so they can retrieve the SIM card." Tempted to protest, I reconsidered and decided against giving him a reason to pry into my affairs. He left my room, leaving me once again in solitude. Switching on the TV, I tuned into the news, letting the reporters' voices become a mere backdrop as I conjured mental images to ward off unwelcome thoughts until sleep claimed me.

The following day, the butler and other staff members busied themselves helping me pack. Unaccustomed to the task, I allowed Mrs. Hotch to sift through my belongings and decide what to take. Zacchaeus had already packed, and I learned he was having breakfast in the dining room downstairs. Typically, I opted for meals to be delivered to my room, but this morning, an inexplicable urge pushed me to leave my sanctuary and join him. Perhaps leaving the city would coincide with a shift in our dynamic. I didn't anticipate love, but perhaps we could find a way to coexist until we figured out our predicament.

A timid voice interrupted my thoughts, "Miss, Mr. Winston is waiting for you downstairs." I saw a frightened-looking young girl of around 16, her eyes meeting mine. I smiled warmly at her, acknowledging her presence. It was time to depart, and I couldn't be more eager to leave this house. Walking down, I noticed that all our luggage had been loaded into the car, and Zacchaeus, visibly impatient, tapped his foot against the floor, leaning against the door frame. I hastened downstairs, the sound of my heels drawing his attention. With a bored expression, he signaled the driver to bring the car to the front and left without acknowledging me. Suppressing the urge to stomp my foot in frustration, I glared at his retreating figure. Who did he think he was, unable to offer even a simple greeting?