---- Chapter 12 The butler stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding a single white envelope as if it were a bomb. Ethan stared at it, a wave of pure terror washing over him. He didn't want to read it. He wanted to pretend it didn't exist, to turn back time to before the house was empty and silent. But he couldn't. He had to face it. He walked down the stairs, his legs feeling like lead. His hand trembled as he took the envelope. Her handwriting, the elegant, familiar script, was like a knife to his eyes. He read the words, and his world collapsed. Ethan, This is our 39th divorce. It is also our last. There will be no remarriage. I'm setting you free. Go be with her. You deserve each other. | am going to find someone who will run toward me. Goodbye. The edge of the paper was warped, stained by a dried teardrop. ---- He crushed the note in his fist, a raw, animalistic roar tearing from his throat. He swept a vase off a nearby table, sending it crashing to the floor. The pain in his chest was unbearable, a gaping wound that bled regret. "No," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "l won't let you go." He pulled out his spare phone and dialed his assistant. "Find her!" he yelled into the phone. "Check every flight, every train, every bus leaving the city. | don't care what it costs. Find her!" He called a private investigator. "I'll pay you double. Triple. Just find my wife." Three days passed. An eternity of silence and waiting. Ethan didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He just sat in his dark office, staring at a computer screen, his face lit by the cold, blue glow. There was nothing. No flight records. No credit card transactions. No sign of her anywhere. It was as if Aurora Kemp had vanished from the face of the earth. He hurled his whiskey glass against the wall, not even feeling the shards that grazed his hand. The physical pain was nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness inside him ---- On the seventh night, the butler used a spare key to get into the master bedroom. Ethan was a wreck. He was still in the same suit, now crumpled and stained. He had lost weight, and his face was a pale, gaunt mask of despair. Empty liquor bottles littered the floor around him The butler brought him a bowl of porridge. Ethan took it mechanically, but the moment the food touched his lips, he spit it out. "This is disgusting!" he roared, throwing the bowl against the wall. "Fire the chef! Are you all trying to poison me?" The terrified maid stammered, "But sir, this is how you always liked it." "No!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "It's wrong. It's all wrong." He stumbled, clutching his stomach. "Rory... she always added a little honey. Just a little. To cut the bitterness." The old butler's eyes filled with tears. "Sir... Mrs. Bruce tried to teach the new chef many times. She would stand in the kitchen for hours, showing her exactly how you liked it. But you were never home to eat it." The words hit Ethan harder than any fist. He collapsed to the floor, curling into a ball, the pain in his ---- stomach a fiery agony. He remembered all the nights he came home drunk, and she would be there with a warm bowl of porridge to soothe his stomach. He remembered complaining that it was bland, that it was too hot, that it was too cold. He had never realized that it was her love, carefully measured and served. And now he was starving for it. He laughed, a broken, hysterical sound. He finally knew what he wanted. He finally understood who he loved. And he had thrown it all away. He had to fix it. He would get rid of Ilene. He would sever all ties. He would spend the rest of his life begging for Aurora's forgiveness. + He just had to find her first. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!