calling James

The room was dark when I finally moved.

The clock on the bedside table glowed faintly, its numbers blurred as my eyes burned from crying. My hands felt heavy as I reached for my phone, fingers hesitating before the screen lit up.

I didn’t know who to call.

My thumb hovered over my mother’s name first. I imagined her voice—soft, worried, asking questions I didn’t have the strength to answer. I couldn’t lie to her. I couldn’t break her either.

I closed the contact.

James.

The name stared back at me, familiar and dangerously comforting. For a moment, I almost pressed it. Almost let myself hear a voice that knew me before I became Mrs. Kingston. Before everything went wrong.

But Theodore’s words echoed in my head.

Stay within your limits.

My thumb trembled as I locked the phone and set it down.

The silence grew louder.

Then, without thinking, I unlocked it again.

I dialed James.

The call rang once. Twice.

My heart began to race all over again. I pictured him answering, saying my name, asking if I was okay—and the thought alone made my chest ache.

Please pick up, I begged silently.

The call went unanswered.

Voicemail.

I pulled the phone away before the tone could sound and ended the call. My breath hitched, a small, broken sound escaping my throat.

I tried again.

No answer.

I stared at the screen, at the proof of my desperation, and felt something inside me sink even lower.

My phone slipped from my fingers and landed softly on the bed. I curled onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest, hugging myself like it could replace human warmth,No one was coming,No one could save me from this house, from this marriage, from this life I had stepped into.

The phone buzzed once.

Hope flared so fast it hurt.

I grabbed it.

No new notifications.

Just the time ticking forward, indifferent and cruel.

I turned the screen off and pressed my face into the pillow, swallowing the sob that threatened to tear out of me.

Even when I reached out, the world stayed silent.

And so did I.

The knock came suddenly.

Sharp. Unnecessary.

I flinched, my phone slipping from my hand as I scrambled to sit up, wiping my face even though it was pointless.

The door opened before I could answer.

Theodore stood there, jacket already off, sleeves rolled up. He looked untouched by the night—no exhaustion, no regret. His eyes flicked once to the phone on the bed.

“Busy?” he asked flatly.

My throat tightened. “No.”

He stepped inside without invitation and closed the door. The sound echoed too loudly in the room.

“You should learn to be more careful,” he said, glancing again at the phone. “Walls here are thin. People talk.”

I said nothing.He moved closer, stopping just far enough away to make the distance deliberate. His gaze was sharp, assessing, as if I were an inconvenience he’d been forced to tolerate.

“Let me guess,” he continued. “Calling James?”

I froze.

“That’s none of your—”

He laughed softly, cutting me off. “Don’t embarrass yourself. I warned you.” His voice dropped. “Do you have any idea how it looks? My wife calling another man on our wedding night?” My hands clenched into the sheets.

“I didn’t say anything,” I whispered. “He didn’t answer.”

“Good,” Theodore said without hesitation. “Because if he had, this conversation would be very different.”

He picked up my phone from the bed and turned it over in his hand. I tensed, but he didn’t unlock it.

“You really don’t understand your position yet,” he said calmly. “This house isn’t a place for comfort. Or sympathy. Or late-night calls to people who make you forget your reality.”

He placed the phone back down slowly, deliberately.“If you need to cry,” he added, eyes cold, “do it quietly. I don’t want to hear it.”

I looked up at him. “Why are you doing this to me?”

For the first time, something flickered across his face—not guilt, not anger. Annoyance.

“Because of yor fucking brother,” he replied. “And because you keep forgetting what he did.”

He turned toward the door.

“Oh—and Evelyn,” he said without looking back, his hand on the handle. “Don’t mistake my silence for ignorance. I notice everything.”

The door closed behind him.

I sat there, frozen, my phone still lying where he left it.

The room felt smaller than before.

And the silence he left behind hurt more than his words.

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