The guests smiled and shook their heads. David waved his hand dismissively.
“Don’t bother. Sit down and look nice for once.”
Emma’s lips curved into a gentle smile.
“Of course,” she replied.
She stayed for a few more minutes, listening, nodding, and laughing at appropriate moments. And then, when she felt it was time, she stood up.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
She looked at each guest. “I have to go out for a moment.”
David barely looked at her.
“Don’t delay.”
She didn’t answer. She calmly walked to the kitchen, grabbed her purse, and stepped out the back door into the cool night air. Her car was already ready, with the suitcase she’d stashed in the trunk a few days earlier. She got in, started the engine, and drove away—leaving behind the house, dinner, and the man who had spent years trying to break her.
Only after the guests had left, almost an hour later, did David notice something was wrong. He trudged to the kitchen, calling for Emma. At first, he thought she was sulking upstairs, as she often did. But when he went upstairs to the bedroom, the sight sent shivers down his spine.
Her side of the closet was half empty. The jewelry drawer was open, leaving only cheap trinkets. The briefcase containing important documents was gone.
“Emma?” Her voice broke, but there was no answer.
He ran downstairs and checked the garage. Her car was gone.
For the first time in years, David felt a cold fear creep into his bones. He dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail. He texted: Where are you? Come back immediately. There was no answer.
In the silence of the house, he replayed the evening in his mind. The calm way she served dinner. The smile she gave him when he humiliated her. The polite way she apologized. With growing horror, he realized that her silence had never been a sign of weakness—it had been a warning he ignored.
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