Chapter 5 - THE EMPTY PLACE AT THE TABLE
I was eating toast in Grace's kitchen when Damian called.
I almost ignored him.
Then I answered.
“Hello.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
“Emma.”
His voice sounded strange.
I put down my cup.
“What happened?”
He swallowed.
“I found your diary.”
Everything inside me went still.
“You read it?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Damian.”
“I know I shouldn't have.”
“Then why did you?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“I saw my name.”
I stared at the wall.
“So you decided my privacy belonged to you too?”
Silence.
Then, quietly, “You're right.”
That surprised me.
Damian rarely admitted fault without adding an explanation.
He continued.
“Emma, I read about the baby.”
My throat closed.
For five years, I had carried that loss in silence.
Now the secret was suddenly between us.
Not because I had chosen to share it.
Because he'd opened a book that wasn't his.
“Please don't,” I whispered.
His breathing changed.
“I didn't know.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
I almost laughed.
The question was so painfully familiar.
Why hadn't I told him?
Why hadn't I explained?
Why hadn't I tried harder?
“Because I was afraid,” I said.
“Of me?”
“Of needing you and finding out you weren't available.”
He said nothing.
I continued.
“And because after it happened, every day that passed made telling you harder.”
His voice broke.
“Emma, I'm sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“I believe you.”
He exhaled.
“Can I come see you?”
“No.”
The silence afterward was enormous.
“Emma—”
“I need you to hear me.”
“I'm listening.”
“You found out something terrible happened to me. I understand that you're hurting. But I cannot become responsible for making you feel better about it.”
He didn't answer.
I continued.
“I need space.”
Finally, he whispered, “Okay.”
After the call, Grace found me crying at the kitchen table.
She sat beside me.
“Did he find out?”
I nodded.
She held my hand.
That afternoon, I returned to Dr. Chen for additional testing.
The doctor explained that my symptoms needed careful evaluation and that stress could complicate how I experienced them, but she would not assume stress was the cause.
I appreciated that.
For years, everyone around me had treated my distress as a personality flaw.
Dr. Chen treated it as information worth investigating.
That evening, Damian sat alone in our dining room.
The table had been set for two out of habit.
Martha, our longtime housekeeper, approached.
“Shall I remove Mrs. Romano's place setting?”
Damian looked at the empty chair.
“Yes.”
Martha reached for the plate.
Then paused.
“Mr. Romano?”
He looked up.
She had worked for his family for twenty-three years.
She had never challenged him.
But that night, her expression was firm.
“Mrs. Romano used to wait for you every evening.”
Damian stared.
Martha continued.
“Sometimes until midnight. Sometimes later.”
He swallowed.
“She never told me.”
Martha's eyes filled.
May you like
“She shouldn't have needed to.”
Then she carried the plate away.
