Ava lay in her childhood bed, the ceiling above her unchanged, but everything inside her irrevocably different. Her mother's voice came back in whispers—soft and warm, the only thing that ever made this house feel safe. But her mother was gone.
After some rest, Nana entered the room with a bowl of soup and a gentle smile. After her mother's death years ago, her grandmother stepped in and filled the void. Her gentle touch made even the darkest days feel safe.
"It's chicken and vegetable," Nana said, setting it on the side table. "You'll be fine in no time. When you're done, you can take your medicine."
"Thank you, Nana," Ava murmured.
She took a spoonful as her grandmother helped feed her, the warmth of the broth easing more than just the ache in her body.
"You always liked this soup," Nana said, a faint smile curving her lips. "Even when you swore you wouldn't eat vegetables."
Ava gave a weak laugh. "I still don't like vegetables."
Nana brushed a hand over Ava's hair. "You've been through something terrible muffin. I hope they find the person who did this."
Ava looked up. "I hope so too."
"Your father called Mark. He's on his way," Nana said quietly.
A chill ran through Ava, settling in her bones. She hadn't thought about him since she arrived. Now, the mention of his name made her stomach twist.
Only now did she realize how deeply the thought of her husband unsettled her. Not fear, not anger, just a quiet, hollow distaste.
"Maybe one day, you'll tell me what's really going on in that marriage," Nana said gently, her eyes watching Ava with quiet concern.
Ava didn't answer right away. She stared into the soup, suddenly finding it hard to swallow.
"Maybe," she whispered.
Ava heard the unmistakable voice of Mark in the hallway talking to someone. Nana gave her a look and went out.
He stepped into the room moments later, a look of concern etched across his face. His tailored suit still crisp, hair perfectly in place.
"Ava," he said, approaching the bed, "I came as soon as I heard. Are you alright?"
Ava gave a nod, her face neutral. "I'll live."
Mark sat at the edge of the bed, reaching for her hand, but she shifted slightly, pretending to adjust her pillow.
"I was worried," he said, his tone soft, but distant.
Ava didn't look at him. "When did you arrive in town?"
"This morning," he replied. "Mother told me you didn't come home."
"Mark, what is this? What are you doing?" Ava asked, her voice quiet but edged with steel.
"Can't I show concern?" he replied, lifting a brow, his tone a little too smooth.
She turned to face him fully now, her eyes cold. "Stop pretending I mean anything to you other than a business deal. Save that for your numerous playthings."
His jaw clenched. "That's not fair."
"No," she said evenly, "what's not fair is you being here playing the devoted husband when we both know that ended the moment the ink dried."
Mark rose from the chair and smoothed the front of his blazer, as if readying for a meeting. "I've arranged for you to come home," he said. "I'll send someone to help you."
Ava didn't look up from the bowl of soup in her lap. "I'm fine here. I'll leave when I'm ready."
He studied her for a moment. "Why did you quit your job?"
She took her time before answering. "I needed a change."
"Father handled the video," Mark said calmly. "It's been taken care of."
"I saw," Ava replied, her voice cool, unreadable.
"I spoke with the CEO of your company on the way here," he said. "He's willing to offer you a promotion. More authority. Better pay."
She met his eyes then. "Mark, I don't want your favors. I left because I wanted out. I'm not going back. Not now."
He exhaled through his nose, voice tight. "Fine. But we're still going home."
Ava set the soup bowl down. "I want to stay with Nana."
"If that's what it takes to bring you back, then Nana can come too."
A pause stretched between them.
"But your mother..."
"She already left this morning."
Ava's eyes narrowed slightly, as if searching for the catch.
"Fine."
....
Ava stepped into the room, and the scent hit her first, cloying perfume, unfamiliar and heavy in the air. The sheets were rumpled, the pillows misplaced, and a single earring glinted on the floor like a dropped confession.
Her stomach turned.
He'd fucked someone here. In her bed. He didn't even have the decency to hide it anymore.
Ava turned on her heel without a word, her throat burning as she made her way to the kitchen. The tap ran too loud, the glass too cold in her shaking hands. She sipped the water slowly, willing herself not to cry. Not for him. Not again.
She heard his voice behind her.
"Couldn't sleep? Are you in pain?"
Disgust coiled in her chest. He had turned their home into a brothel and still had the audacity to play the concerned husband.
"I'm fine," she said coolly. "I'll sleep with Nana tonight."
As she turned to leave, Mark caught her arm. She instinctively yanked it away.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, feigning concern.
"It's just the meds," she replied flatly.
He stepped closer and took her hand, pressing a kiss against her skin. The urge to recoil, no, to spit in his face, rose fast and hot, but she held it down. He wasn't worth the effort.
Then he forced his mouth onto hers.
She didn't resist at first, shock had frozen her, but when his touch grew bolder, more possessive, she shoved him hard in the chest. He staggered back, and she met his eyes with a glare cold enough to freeze bone.
"I'm tired, Mark. Later." Her voice was dead calm.
She turned and walked away, never looking back, the door to Nana's room clicking softly shut behind her.
Something gnawed at his mind.
Why had she looked at him like that? Cold. Distant. Almost... repulsed.
His feet moved on instinct, carrying him to the bedroom.
"Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.
He had told Bessie to clean up before he left this morning.
Apparently, she hadn't listened. Or maybe she had, and left it on purpose.