My Silent Husband Finally Spoke, But He Said My Best Friend’s Name Chapter 05

My Silent Husband Finally Spoke, But He Said My Best Friend’s Name Chapter 05

“Chloe?”

“Where are you?”

“Why aren’t you home?”

“I brought you those breakfast sandwiches. The ones you love.”

I read through his messages and almost laughed, but the rawness in my throat stopped me.

A baggage claim announcement echoed through the terminal. Passengers streamed past me, dragging their suitcases toward the exit.

I stood still in the middle of it all. My throat was still raw.

But for the first time in years, something in my chest loosened.

Like I’d finally stepped offstage after three years of performing to an empty room.

I didn’t have to translate his gestures anymore. Didn’t have to twist his silence into something that looked like love. Didn’t have to stand in front of a man who would never answer and pretend that I

was enough for both of us.

I silenced my phone and let the crowd carry me out into the bright morning.

Around the same time, Julian walked through our front door.

The silence in the apartment hit him first.

He was still holding the bag of food.

The sandwiches I used to love so much.

I used to lean against the counter, peeling the wrapper back while I talked to him.

“Julian, the guy at the deli threw in extra bacon today.”

“He said I’m his favorite regular because I always come in smiling.”

“Here, try it. It’s so good.”

Julian would just eat in silence, not even looking up.

But I could keep going by myself for hours.

Now, the table sat empty.

Julian stood in the doorway, and something inside him hollowed out.

He set the bag on the table. That’s when he saw the divorce papers.

My signature was already at the bottom. My handwriting was steady.

Not a tremor. As if I’d made up my mind a long time ago.

The color drained from Julian’s face.

His phone was in his hand before he could think.

The call went straight to voicemail.

His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white.

A text from Stella popped up.

[You home yet?]

[Is Chloe okay?]

Julian stared at the screen. He didn’t answer.

He went straight to the bedroom.

Half my clothes were gone from the closet. My medication had been cleared off the nightstand. In

the study, all the speech therapy materials were stuffed into a trash bag.

The flashcards sat right on top.

The first one still had my handwriting on it, messy and uneven.

“[You’ve got this today, Julian.]”

Something clenched in Julian’s chest.

He crouched down and picked it up.

On the back, I’d drawn a little doodle of a bunny. It was terrible, with lopsided ears and a crooked smile. I’d drawn it so he’d have something to look at when the drills got boring.

Next to it, in my handwriting: “When you can finally talk, the first word you say has to be my

name.”

Julian read it, and his throat closed.

He opened his mouth. The sound that came out barely held together.

“Chloe.”

The apartment swallowed the sound whole.

No one came running. No one threw their arms around him with tears in their eyes,

No one lit up, tripping over their words to say:

“Julian, you can talk.”

“You said my name. You finally said my name.”

Then he remembered last night.

He was out the door in seconds, running for the concierge desk in the lobby. When he got there, his

voice sounded wrecked.

“Did something happen on the sixteenth floor last night?”

The concierge stared. “Mr. Sterling, you can talk?”

Julian looked like he was about to collapse.

“Answer me. Did someone try to break into my apartment last night?”

The concierge pulled up the security footage.

Three men. Standing at his door. Trying the keypad over and over.

Julian could picture it: what it must’ve looked like from the other side of that door.

Fresh out of the hospital. My throat too damaged to scream. Curled up in the bedroom, listening to them try to force the door open.

And he’d been sending voice messages to Stella.

He’d called it a lie. A creative lie.

On the screen, the police arrived. They helped me out of the bedroom.

I looked like a ghost. I was shaking so badly I couldn’t stand.

One of the officers asked if there was someone he could call for me.

Julian watched the footage as I nodded, pulling my phone close. But then my eyes fell on the tablet glowing on the nightstand.

He saw the exact moment the fight left me. I lowered the phone, looked back at the officer, and

slowly shook my head. Even on the grainy footage, he could read my lips: “No one.”

Julian grabbed the edge of the desk. It was the only thing keeping him upright.

The concierge spoke carefully.

“Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling left with a suitcase a few hours ago.”

“It looked like she was heading to the airport.”

The airport. The word went off in him like a bomb.

He ran. Out of the lobby, phone already dialing.

Still nothing. Straight to voicemail every time.

So he sent voice notes. One after another after another.

[Chloe, where are you?]

[I was wrong. I know I was wrong.]

[I can talk.]

[Isn’t this what you always wanted? To hear me say your name?]

[Chloe.]

[Chloe, please pick up.]

Each one shakier than the last.

Every single one failed to send. The red “Not Delivered” alerts, one after another, staring back at

him.

Julian stopped moving.

The phone slid from his hand and cracked against the floor.

The screen was still on. My last message glowed on the shattered glass.

[Please.]

It hit him all at once.

That wasn’t a test.

That had been the last time I ever asked him for help.

And the last time I believed he’d come.