Weeks passed, but the absence never softened. If anything, it grew louder.
At first, I thought the silence would bring relief. No new scandals. No sudden headlines with Ethan Cole's name dominating every screen. No frantic phone calls. No desperate apologies wrapped in guilt and regret. Just space. Just distance. Just the life I had fought so hard to rebuild.
But silence has a way of echoing when you least expect it.
The rumors started quietly, slipping into conversations like careless whispers. Someone said Ethan had left the country. Another claimed he had sold off major assets to cover losses. Others speculated bankruptcy, legal trouble, or a private collapse so severe it forced him to disappear entirely. The media circled his absence like vultures, feeding on speculation, exaggeration, and half-truths. Cole Enterprises released brief statements through lawyers and representatives, but no one had seen him. No one had heard his voice. No public appearances. No social presence. No denial.
It was as if Ethan Cole had simply vanished from the world.
And I hated myself for the way that unsettled me.
I told myself I shouldn't care. That whatever happened to him was the consequence of his choices. That he had shattered our marriage, exposed my pain to the world, and tried to control me even after I walked away. I reminded myself of the nights I cried alone in that mansion, the humiliation, the betrayal, the accident that nearly took my life.
But knowing all of that didn't stop the hollow feeling that settled in my chest every time his name came up.
It wasn't longing. It wasn't love, not in the way it used to be. It was something quieter and far more dangerous, a lingering concern I couldn't reason away.
At work, life continued as it always did. Meetings, deadlines, strategy calls, negotiations. Adrian kept his promise and shielded me from the worst of the backlash following the contract leak. He handled the board with calm authority, dismantled rumors before they grew too large, and redirected attention toward our success. On the surface, everything was moving forward.
Inside, I felt suspended in something unfinished.
One afternoon, I stood by the large glass window in Adrian's office, watching the city stretch endlessly below. Cars moved in neat lines, people hurried across crosswalks, life unfolding as if nothing had ever fallen apart. I wondered how easily the world swallowed pain and kept moving.
"You're thinking about him again," Adrian said quietly behind me.
I didn't turn. "Is it that obvious?"
He came to stand beside me, hands tucked into his pockets, his presence steady and grounding. "You don't hide your thoughts very well when they matter."
I exhaled slowly. "Everyone keeps asking me how I feel about him disappearing. As if I'm supposed to celebrate it."
"And you don't."
"No," I admitted. "I don't."
Adrian studied my reflection in the glass. "That doesn't mean you want him back."
"I know," I said quickly. "I don't. I just… don't want him destroyed either."
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, just heavy with truth.
"You're not cruel," Adrian said finally. "That's why this hurts you."
I turned to face him then, searching his eyes for judgment and finding none. He never demanded answers from me. Never pressured me to move faster than I was ready to. He simply stayed.
That was the difference.
Days passed, then more weeks, and still nothing. Ethan remained missing, his world unraveling without him. His mother tried to contact me again once, but I couldn't bring myself to answer. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if there was anything left to say.
One evening, after a long day at the office, Adrian asked me to stay behind. The sun had already dipped low, casting warm orange light across the room. The building was quiet, the hum of distant traffic barely audible.
"I need to tell you something," he said, his tone gentle but serious.
I nodded, my heart tightening instinctively. "Okay."
He took a slow breath, as if choosing each word carefully. "I know you're still healing. I know your past isn't something you can just shut the door on. And I don't want to be another man who demands more than you can give."
I stayed silent, letting him continue.
"I care about you," Adrian said, meeting my gaze. "Deeply. But I'm not asking for your heart. Not yet. I'm not asking you to forget him, or erase what you shared."
My throat tightened.
"I'm just asking for the chance to protect what's left of you," he finished softly.
Something in my chest shifted, fragile and unfamiliar. Not passion. Not fire. But safety. The kind that didn't demand or consume, only offered.
"I don't know if I'm ready for that," I said honestly.
He nodded. "I know. That's why I'm not rushing you."
His patience made my eyes burn more than any confession ever could. I had spent so long proving my worth to someone who never truly saw me. And here was a man willing to stand still while I found my footing.
"I appreciate you," I whispered.
He smiled gently. "That's enough for now."
The next morning, I arrived at my desk early, hoping to get ahead of the day before my thoughts caught up with me. I was organizing files when I noticed something unusual resting neatly at the corner of my workspace. A plain, cream-colored envelope. No stamp. No return address. Just my name written in careful, familiar handwriting.
My breath caught.
I knew it before I touched it.
My fingers trembled as I picked it up, the weight of it heavier than paper should ever be. For a moment, I considered leaving it unopened, pretending I hadn't seen it. But avoidance had never given me peace.
I slid my finger beneath the seal.
Inside was a simple folded note and a small velvet box.
I opened the box first.
My vision blurred instantly.
Ethan's wedding ring rested inside, the gold band catching the light. The same ring I had once slipped onto his finger with shaking hands. The same ring he had worn through lies, distance, and regret. The symbol of a marriage that had begun as a contract and ended in ashes.
My chest tightened painfully.
With unsteady hands, I unfolded the note.
For when you're ready to forgive me.
That was all.
No excuses. No explanations. No pleas. Just six words that carried the weight of everything we had been and everything we would never be again.
I stared at the ring, my heart pounding violently, emotions colliding in ways I didn't know how to untangle. Forgiveness felt impossible. And yet… seeing that ring, knowing he had let it go, knowing he had chosen absence over control for once, cracked something open inside me.
I didn't know where Ethan was. I didn't know if he was safe. I didn't know if he would ever come back.
But I knew this much:
The man who vanished had finally stopped fighting me.
And that scared me more than any confrontation ever could.
My fingers closed around the ring as tears filled my eyes, my heart caught between a past that still ached and a future that waited quietly, patiently, for me to choose it.
And for the first time since Ethan disappeared, I realized something terrifying.
If he returned now… I didn't know what I would do.