She Turned Her Grief Into Wings novel Chapter 4

Thinking that his boss still hadn't eaten and terrified of an outburst, he quickly ordered a bowl of seafood soup from the Sterling Spoon, adding a few side dishes just in case.

——-

Caden got home at nine o'clock. The entire house was pitch black, without a single sliver of light.

He pulled at his tie as he walked, tossing his suit jacket onto the entryway console.

The lights were off, and the house was so quiet that only his footsteps echoed.

Caden frowned and hit the wall switch.

This level of emptiness felt incredibly alien to him. Normally, even when she was away on a trip, she would leave a light on for him in the house. She knew he hated the dark.

Scanning the room, the kitchen island was completely bare—no freshly washed fruit, and nothing inside the fridge either.

He pulled out his phone and found Shera's contact. Her nickname was just her screen name, and now there was a "Do Not Disturb" icon sitting right next to it.

Their chat history was frozen from three days ago.

A flood of canceled calls, texts asking why he wasn't answering, asking if he could come home, and demanding to know why the surgery hadn't been scheduled yet.

Because Helga’s father had been in critical condition at the time, he hadn't had the patience to humor her dramatics. He had already looked into it; her father's condition had always been stable, so there was no immediate rush.

Scrolling further up, it was practically a one-sided diary. Sharing how her interviews went, sending photos of the blooming roses in the yard, asking which fruit he preferred, reminding him to stay warm on his trips, and telling him where his stomach medication was packed in his suitcase...

He would either reply with a single "Mm" or leave her on read. He always felt they saw each other every day, so there was absolutely no need to waste energy replying to meaningless updates.

He set the gift bag he had bought on the table, poured himself a glass of water, and typed out a quick line.

[Did your business trip go well? When are you done? Let's go to that restaurant you like when you get back.]

He thought about it, realized it didn't sound like him at all, deleted it, and retyped.

[How is it? How many days is the trip, and when are you coming back?]

He deleted it again.

[When are you coming back?]

Send.

By the time the water in his glass had gone completely cold, there was still no reply.

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