Chapter 2 - THE EMPTY HOUSE
Dominic Moretti had faced armed rivals, federal investigations, and men who would have celebrated his death.
But according to Gabriel, nothing had prepared him for an empty bedroom.
I learned the details later.
That night, Dominic returned from the hospital shortly after midnight.
Vanessa had experienced abdominal pain, but the doctors found no immediate emergency. She was sent home with instructions to follow up with her obstetrician.
Margaret insisted Dominic drive Vanessa to her apartment.
He did.
Then he returned to Lake Forest.
The house was quiet.
It was always quiet.
For years, he'd arranged his life around silence, believing it made everything easier.
He walked upstairs, removed his jacket, and opened the bedroom door.
My side of the closet was empty.
My slippers were gone.
The little ceramic dish where I kept my wedding ring sat bare.
Dominic frowned.
"Emma?"
No answer.
He checked the bathroom.
The guest bedroom.
My small office.
Then he found the divorce petition on his desk.
According to Gabriel, Dominic read it three times.
He called me.
The call went straight to voicemail.
He called again.
Then he called Gabriel.
"Emma's gone."
Gabriel initially thought we'd had an argument.
"What happened?"
Dominic stared at the papers.
"She filed for divorce."
A pause.
"Why?"
Dominic said nothing.
Gabriel sighed.
"Dom, what did you do?"
For the first time, my husband couldn't hide behind the hearing aids.
I arrived in Galena just before dawn.
The farmhouse stood at the end of a gravel driveway, surrounded by bare trees and rolling hills.
It was smaller than the Moretti estate's guesthouse.
White siding.
A green front door.
A porch that creaked when I stepped onto it.
But it was mine.
I unlocked the door and entered.
The air smelled faintly of cedar.
My grandmother's old rocking chair stood beside the fireplace.
Her framed photograph remained on the mantel.
I set my suitcase down.
Then I sat on the floor and cried again.
Not because the house was inadequate.
Because it felt like someone had finally opened a window after five years in a room without air.
By noon, my phone contained seventeen missed calls.
Eleven from Dominic.
Three from Margaret.
Two from Gabriel.
One from an unfamiliar number.
I listened to the first voicemail.
"Emma, call me."
Dominic sounded irritated.
The second was sharper.
"This isn't funny."
By the fifth, his voice had changed.
"Emma, please. I don't understand."
I deleted the messages without answering.
Then I called my attorney, Rebecca Hale.
Rebecca had represented my grandmother's estate years earlier. She was a meticulous family-law attorney with a reputation for refusing intimidation.
"Are you safe?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Good. I've received the signed documents. We'll review the petition and arrange proper service."
I looked toward the window.
"Dominic knows."
"I assumed he would."
"He keeps calling."
"You don't have to answer. But don't destroy messages. Preserve them."
I nodded.
Then I hesitated.
"Rebecca?"
"Yes?"
"I'm pregnant."
Silence.
Then her voice softened.
"How far along?"
"Five weeks."
"Have you seen your doctor?"
"Yes. That's how I know."
"All right."
I swallowed.
"I haven't told Dominic."
Rebecca paused.
"Emma, the pregnancy will matter in the divorce and future parenting arrangements. We need to handle disclosure appropriately."
"I know."
"Are you afraid he'll hurt you?"
I considered the question.
Dominic had never struck me.
He had never needed to.
His indifference had done its damage without leaving bruises.
"I'm afraid he'll try to control everything," I admitted.
Rebecca was quiet.
Then she said, "We'll establish clear boundaries. You won't have to negotiate this alone."
I closed my eyes.
"Thank you."
That evening, I made soup in my grandmother's kitchen.
I ate at a small wooden table.
No waiting for Dominic.
No reheating dinner at eleven.
No watching his expression to determine whether he wanted company.
I washed my bowl and put it away.
Then I went upstairs.
For the first time in years, I slept with music playing softly beside my bed.
May you like
I didn't know whether my husband was listening for me.
But I was finished living in silence.
