The Soccer Star’s Forgotten Wife Chapter 06

The Soccer Star’s Forgotten Wife Chapter 06

Three days passed.

Then five.

Then seven.

I didn’t go back.

For the first time in seven years, my life belonged entirely to me.

No early morning training schedules.

No sponsor meetings disguised as casual dinners.

No calls from Adrian’s parents asking me to solve problems that had nothing to do with me.

No Ryan demanding things without ever saying please.

Just work.

My new apartment.

And peace.

It was amazing how quiet life became when you stopped carrying everyone else’s responsibilities.

By the second week, I had officially started my consulting job.

The company specialized in athlete branding and sports marketing.

Apparently, helping one of the biggest soccer stars in America

build his career for nearly a decade looked impressive on a résumé.

Who knew?

At eleven that morning, I was presenting a sponsorship strategy when my boss interrupted.

“Claire.”

I looked up.

“What?”

He smiled.

“The client loves it.”

The conference room erupted in approval.

A few people applauded.

I blinked.

Actually blinked.

Nobody had applauded me before.

Not for work.

Not for effort.

Not for solving problems.

For years, every success had been attached to Adrian’s name.

Now it belonged to mine.

The feeling was strangely addictive.

Meanwhile, things were not going well at the Hale house.

At least, that’s what Daniel told me over lunch.

He sat across from me at a small café near my office.

“You know your husband almost started a kitchen fire?”

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Seriously?”

“Apparently the smoke alarm went off three times.”

“Only three?”

Daniel nearly choked on his coffee.

“I swear, every time I tell you a story about him, you become funnier.”

I smiled.

The smile came easier these days.

“Any updates on Ryan?”

Daniel’s expression softened.

“He misses you.”

The words hurt.

Because despite everything, Ryan was still my son.

“How much?”

“A lot.”

I stared out the window.

Daniel hesitated.

Then added:

“He got into a fight at school yesterday.”

My head snapped toward him.

“What?”

“He punched another kid.”

“What happened?”

Daniel sighed.

“Somebody said his parents were getting divorced.”

My stomach tightened.

Ryan.

My sweet little boy.

The same boy who had chosen Olivia over me.

The same boy who had told me I smelled like cooking oil.

The same boy I still loved more than anyone.

“What did Adrian do?”

Daniel laughed without humor.

“What do you think?”

I already knew.

Nothing.

Or at least not enough.

Because Adrian solved problems the same way he handled emotions.

By pretending they didn’t exist.

That evening, my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

Then curiosity won.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Then:

“Mom?”

Ryan.

My heart immediately softened.

Against my better judgment.

Against my common sense.

Against everything.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

The relief in his voice was instant.

“Mom.”

As if he hadn’t been sure I’d answer.

As if he’d been worried.

Good.

Maybe he should worry.

Maybe for once he should know what it felt like when someone important disappeared.

“How are you?” I asked.

Another silence.

Then:

“I don’t like Dad’s cooking.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

Of course that’s how this conversation started.

Not I miss you.

Not I love you.

Food.

Always food.

Because that’s what I had become.

The person who made life comfortable.

The person everyone noticed only when she stopped.

“I see.”

Ryan sounded frustrated.

“The pancakes are weird.”

I nearly smiled.

“Your father can’t cook.”

“I know.”

Silence followed.

Longer this time.

Then finally:

“When are you coming home?”

There it was.

The question I’d been waiting for.

The question everyone kept asking.

I leaned back against the couch.

“What do you miss about me?”

Ryan seemed confused.

“What?”

“What do you miss?”

Another pause.

Then:

“You make breakfast.”

I closed my eyes.

“Anything else?”

“You know where my soccer stuff is.”

I said nothing.

Ryan kept going.

“You help me with homework.”

Silence.

Then:

“You buy the snacks I like.”

Each answer hurt more than the one before.

Because none of them were about me.

They were about service.

Convenience.

Function.

I swallowed hard.

“Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you miss me?”

The line went quiet.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then my son whispered:

“…yes.”

The answer sounded small.

Fragile.

Real.

For the first time during the call, my eyes burned.

“Okay.”

“I do.”

“I know.”

“I really do.”

My throat tightened.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

Then another voice appeared.

Adrian.

“Give me the phone.”

Ryan immediately protested.

“No!”

“Ryan.”

“No!”

A struggle followed.

Then the phone changed hands.

Silence.

Just breathing.

Then:

“Claire.”

I hated that my heart still reacted to his voice.

“Adrian.”

“Ryan’s been crying.”

I stared at the wall.

“He’ll be okay.”

“He misses you.”

The irony nearly killed me.

Now he understood missing someone.

Interesting.

“He had seven years to appreciate me.”

His jaw visibly tightened through the phone.

“You keep acting like we’re the enemy.”

I laughed softly.

“Aren’t you?”

“Claire.”

“No.”

I sat upright.

For the first time since leaving, anger pushed through the sadness.

“Let’s be honest for once.”

His breathing changed.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I stood and walked toward the window.

“Did you ever tell Ryan to respect me?”

Silence.

“Did you ever correct him when he dismissed me?”

Nothing.

“Did you ever thank me in front of him?”

Still nothing.

The city lights blurred outside.

I continued.

“Children learn from their parents, Adrian.”

My voice shook.

Not with weakness.

With truth.

“Ryan didn’t wake up one day and decide I wasn’t important.”

Silence.

“He learned it from watching you.”

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then Adrian said quietly:

“I never told him not to respect you.”

The answer made me smile sadly.

There it was.

The classic defense.

I didn’t do anything.

Exactly.

That was the problem.

“You didn’t have to.”

I hung up.

The next morning, the internet exploded.

Again.

But this time it wasn’t because of Olivia.

It was because of me.

A major sports podcast released an interview with one of Adrian’s former sponsors.

Most people ignored it.

Until one particular quote started trending.

Honestly, Claire Bennett did most of the work.

Without her, that brand partnership would’ve failed years ago.

The clip spread everywhere.

Then another sponsor spoke up.

Then another.

Then another.

By noon, social media was asking the same question.

Who was really responsible for Adrian Hale’s empire?

For the first time in years, people started looking behind the superstar.

And what they found wasn’t Olivia.

It wasn’t his management team.

It wasn’t his agents.

It was me.

Thousands of comments flooded the internet.

Wait. His wife did all that?

She negotiated those contracts?

She built those partnerships?

And he called her just a homemaker?

By evening, #JusticeForClaire was trending nationwide.

I stared at the screen in disbelief.

Across the city, Adrian was staring too.

The difference was that for the first time in his life…

The entire world was finally seeing what he had spent years overlooking.

And judging him for it.