Mirabelle’s POV:
“Mirabelle?” Ken’s voice was gentle but insistent. “What is it?”
I sighed and pushed my chair back abruptly. “I have to go.” I said, smiling. “I’m sorry, Ken, I can’t do this right now.”
“Mirabelle, wait-” he started, but I was already walking out of the restaurant, the door slamming shut behind me.
I got home earlier than usual and found Jamie tidying up the living room. She looked up as I came in, her eyes widening when she saw my face.
“Is everything alright, Mrs. Sylvester?” she asked, setting down the duster. I opened my mouth to say yes, to tell her not to worry, but instead, something inside me broke.
“No,” I said, and my voice cracked. “No, Jamie, nothing is alright.” She was by my side in an instant, guiding me to the kitchen table and pushing a steaming cup of tea into my hands.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted the salt of my tears on my lips.
“Take your time, dear,” Jamie said softly, sitting down across from me. I told her everything-the issue with Noah, the fight, Natasha’s message, the fear that I was losing everything I’d worked so hard to keep. Jamie listened patiently, never interrupting, and when I finished, she reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“You need to have something to eat.” She suggested. I wiped my eyes and nodded.
After lunch, I made my way to the library where Grandpa Ed sat in his favorite armchair, reading a novel. He looked up when I entered, and smiled. “Come in, Mirabelle,” he said. “You look like you have just seen a ghost.” He teased me.
I sank into the chair across from him, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Grandpa,” I confessed.
He closed the book and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “What is it exactly that you are scared about?” He asked gently. “Noah being upset with you or losing your second husband to another woman?” He asked.
And he had a point. I am scared of losing my second husband, it’s not about Noah. It’s just about my fear of being called a loser and being laughed on a second time.
“You’ve always been a fighter, Mirabelle,” He continued. “But sometimes, you have to know what is it you are a actually fighting for.” I nodded. His words made sense, but they didn’t bring me the clarity I so desperately needed.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I went to the guest room. I opened the closet and pulled out an old photo album, it was the picture we took after I put to bed.
I flipped through the pages slowly, feeling a lump rise in my throat. There we were, Noah, and I, holding three cute babies. Smiling with our fingers entwined. We looked so happy.
I closed the album abruptly, shoving it back into the drawer. Those memories were too painful now.
I grabbed my laptop and started typing an email to Natasha. My fingers flew over the keyboard, pouring out every ounce of frustration and fury I’d been holding back.
I told her to stay away from my husband, to stop trying to sabotage my marriage, and to mind her own business. I was seconds away from hitting “Send” when my courage died down.
Was this really the answer? Would sending an angry email solve anything? My finger hovered over the button, and I hesitated. Then I closed the laptop with a snap, leaving the email unsent.
This was bigger than Natasha. This was about me, about my insecurities, and about what I wanted for my future.
I stood by the window, staring out at the stars twinkling in the night sky. Whatever happened next, I wouldn’t let anyone else dictate my choices. I would fight for my marriage, but on my own terms.
Should I tell Noah about Natasha’s threat? Just maybe that would make him see reasons with me. Maybe he will finally understand my fear…
I stared at the ceiling, patiently waiting for Noah to step out of the bathroom. Noah had been unusually quiet after dinner, retreating to his study as soon as he could, and I had retreated to our bedroom after I had gone to the guest room.
He stepped into the room just then, fresh from the shower, his hair damp and his skin still glowing from the steam.
He ran a towel through his hair as he made his way to the closet, and for a brief moment, I couldn’t help but watch him, even though I was still angry.
I sat up in bed, the sheets rustling beneath me. “Noah,” I called out, my voice sounding foreign, like I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to speak to him. “We need to talk.”
He stopped mid-step, glancing at me over his shoulder, then sighed as he tossed the towel aside. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, his voice softer than I expected.
Then he turned to face me, walking over to the bed, his eyes meeting mine. “About what happened last night?” I nodded, finally able to meet his gaze.
“Yes. About everything. About Natasha. About us.” He climbed into bed beside me, the mattress sinking under his weight. He turned toward me, propping himself up on his elbow.
“I have decided to call of the partnership with Natasha.” He revealed.
Shaking my head. “You can work with Natasha.” I began. “I should never have been so dramatic about it in the first place. Even when you trusted me and gave me your full support to work with Ken in the first place,” I paused for a moment, a sad look on my face. “I should trust you fully as well.” I added.”
“Mirabelle, that’s not what I want. I don’t want you to trust me because I trusted you. You need to trust me, because I must’ve proven myself worthy of your trust.” He pressed.
“Besides, I was serious earlier.” He continued. “I really want to call off the partnership with Natasha. I told you that because I meant it. I don’t want to keep working with her if it makes you uncomfortable.”