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Remembering
Chapter Thirty–Two
The rain beat steadily against the windows, soft but relentless, a whispering rhythm that filled the silence of the penthouse.
Elena sat curled on the edge of the sofa, her tablet dimmed on the table beside her, untouched. The uneaten plate of food in front of her had long gone cold. She leaned back, pressing a hand against her temple. The dull ache of hunger stirred again—but what she really wanted was water.
She rose and crossed to the corner where the distilled water dispenser stood, sleek and silver against the white marble counter. When she pressed the lever, only a faint hiss came out–no water. Empty.
Her brows knit together. “Already?” she muttered, tapping the top of the machine. Adrian had always made sure it never ran out. Every night, he would check it, refill the tank, clean the filter–without ever being told. She had never noticed how much he quietly managed until now.
Elena sighed and grabbed her phone, dialing the number of the delivery company. After several rings, a tired voice answered.
“Hello, AquaPure Services-”
“Yes, this is Mrs. Cole-” She paused, correcting herself stiffly. “Elena. I need a refill for my distilled water. Tonight.”
The woman on the other end sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry, ma’am. All our drivers are off the road. The storm’s caused flooding near the main road. We can have it delivered first thing tomorrow.”
Elena frowned, pacing. “Tomorrow? That’s not acceptable. I need it now.”
“I really am sorry,” the voice repeated. “It’s just not safe tonight.”
The line clicked off before she could argue again.
For a moment, Elena just stood there, the silence of the apartment pressing down heavier than the rain outside. The empty water machine gleamed under the dim kitchen light–silent, indifferent.
She turned away, muttering under her breath, “Of course. Typical.”
Her eyes drifted across the room–the half–folded laundry, the unwashed glass on the counter, the slight disarray of a home that used to be effortlessly in order. Adrian had handled everything quietly, efficiently. She’d never had to ask. He’d made sure she never lacked comfort.
Now, the emptiness of that absence gnawed at her.
She rubbed her arms, trying to shake it off. “I don’t need him,” she whispered sharply to herself. “I’m fine.”
But the echo of her voice sounded hollow.
Her gaze fell on the faint dent in the sofa cushion beside her–the spot Adrian always sat, reading medical journals late into the night, the soft hum of the water machine behind him. It used to annoy her–the way he never took a break, how he always seemed so calm, as though nothing she did could shake him.
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And yet… she realized now that his quiet steadiness had been the center of this home,
Elena shook her head, forcing the thought away, “No,” she muttered, pacing again. “He’s probably cart somewhere right now. Laughing, Flirting. As if the past years meant nothing.”
The bitterness crept into her voice, sharp and defensive. “He moved on the second the papers were signed. Frolicking with whatever woman crosses his path.”
She snatched up her phone again, scrolling furiously. Her thumb hovered over Adrian’s contact, then stopped. Her hand trembled slightly.
“No,” she said again, dropping the phone onto the table, “I’m not calling him.”
She straightened, her expression hardening, “This isn’t his place anymore. I’ll manage on my own.”
Opening her contacts, she called the domestic agency.
A polite male voice answered. “Good evening, BrightHome Staffing, how may I assist?”
“I need two maids,” she said curtly, “Full–time. Starting tomorrow morning.”
There was a brief pause. “Understood, ma’am. Shall we send the same two who worked with you before?”
Elena hesitated for half a breath, remembering the last time she’d seen them–how they’d left in tears after she’d shouted at them over a misplaced invoice. Adrian had spoken to her afterward, quietly but firmly, about patience. She’d ignored him.
Her jaw tightened. “Yes,” she said finally. “Send them both back. And make sure they arrive early.”
“Of course, ma’am. We’ll confirm by morning.”
She hung up and set the phone down, exhaling slowly. The rain outside had softened to a gentle drizzle, the rhythmic patter soothing but melancholic.
Elena stared at her reflection in the darkened window–a woman who had once lived in quiet harmony, now surrounded by silence that felt heavier with every hour.
She brushed her hair back and gave a small, bitter laugh. “This is where I belong,” she murmured. “Not in the shadow of some miracle doctor.”
But as she turned away from the window, her eyes flicked once more to the empty water dispenser.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, that single small thing–the absence of water–felt like the sharpest reminder of all.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
