The sitting room was dim. Golden had switched off all the main lights, leaving only the soft glow from the corner lamp — pale and lonely. She lay curled up on the couch, hugging a throw pillow close to her chest as if it could hold her heart together.
Earlier, she had sketched a new design that came to her mind like a spark in the dark. For a few hours, it distracted her — lines, fabrics, colors — all blending into what felt like peace.
But the peace didn't last.
She had cleaned the house twice. Then again, for the third time, scrubbing what was already spotless. She'd scrolled endlessly through social media — smiling at strangers' happiness, pausing at pictures of babies, of families, of love that looked like what she used to have.
And when there was nothing left to do — nothing to distract her — the silence came creeping back.
And with it, the ache. Tears filled her eyes again. Her chest tightened. She remembered Xavier's last words to her — cold, cruel, piercing through her like shards of glass.
"You're barren, Golden."
The words still echoed, sharp as the slap she never gave him back. Her body trembled with silent sobs. The room was dim, but the memories flashing through her mind burned bright — so bright they hurt.
She saw Xavier years ago — pulling her close, his voice soft and full of conviction.
"I'll never hurt you, Gold. I'll always fight for us, no matter what."
His arms had felt like home then, his words like a promise etched into her very soul.
A tear slipped down her cheek as another memory surfaced.
She'd asked him once, laughing as she brushed his hair back, "How many children do you want?"
He had smiled, eyes gleaming, "Five."
He had promised to scream with her during labor, said he'd hold her hand, that they'd go through every pain together.
And with a playful grin and a kiss, she had replied, "Then I'll give you all five before we hit eleven years."
Now, nine years into that marriage — two years left to keep that promise — and not a single cry of a child had ever echoed in their home. Not even one.
Her sobs deepened. Not just for the child she longed for, but for the love that seemed to slip farther away with every argument, every silence. For the laughter that had faded, replaced by a loneliness too heavy to name.
Outside, Xavier's car pulled into the compound. But he didn't step out immediately. He sat there, engine off, hands gripping the steering wheel, heart pounding hard enough to shake his ribs.
Diana's perfume still clung faintly to his shirt, like guilt woven into the fabric. The memory of her lips, her breath, that almost unforgivable moment — it haunted him. He wanted to tell Golden everything. But another voice whispered: "What's the point? It'll only make things worse."
He sighed, leaned back, and hit the wheel lightly in frustration. Then slowly, he opened the door and walked to the house.
The door creaked open. He stepped in quietly.
"Hey… I'm home," he said softly.
Golden sat up immediately, startled. She wiped her tears quickly, trying to steady her breath.
"When last have you announced your coming home in that tone?" she asked quietly, suspicion threading her voice.
Xavier gave an uneasy smile, scratching the back of his head, "I usually did. You probably just never used to listen."
Golden said nothing. She just stared at him — long, hard, unreadable.
The silence between them felt heavier than words. Xavier fidgeted under her gaze, forcing a nervous chuckle.
"Hmm… were you crying? What happened?"
Golden's eyes widened slightly. Was he really asking that? A bitter smile tugged at her lips.
"When last have you asked why I'm crying, Xavier? Or how I'm doing? Or what's going on with me?"
He looked away. She was right. Completely right. And with the guilt already weighing on him, he dared not say anything to her about Diana.
He nodded faintly, muttered something under his breath, and walked upstairs — heart pounding harder with every step.
Golden watched him go, confusion settling in, "Why was he suddenly acting… caring? Nervous? Different?"
She sat there a while, staring at the staircase, then sighed. No, something was wrong. She could feel it. She got up and went after him.
She knocked softly on the door. No reply, so she pushed it open.
The bathroom light was on. The sound of running water echoed softly. She walked in quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting.
Then something caught her nose. A scent. She frowned. Sniffed again.
Her heart skipped. The scent was floral — expensive — and unmistakably feminine.
She reached for the shirt lying on the bed, lifted it to her nose, and sniffed again. Her stomach twisted.
"This… this is a woman's perfume," she whispered, her voice trembling.
The bathroom door opened. Xavier stepped out, towel around his waist, and froze when he saw her holding his shirt.
"Golden?" he asked carefully. "What are you doing with my shirt?"
Golden scoffed, holding it up like evidence, "Whose perfume is this?"
The question hit him like a slap. He blinked, trying to stay calm, "What kind of question is that? Give me the shirt," he said, walking toward her.
But Golden stood abruptly, gripping it tightly, "Whose perfume is this, Xavier?" Her voice rose, raw and shaking.
"Golden, calm down," he said softly. "Give me my—"
"Whose perfume is this?!" she screamed, cutting him off.
"You're overreacting, Gold. Just calm down first and—"
Her voice broke as she shouted, "So it's true. You're cheating."
Xavier froze. His throat tightened, "I'm not! Nothing happened between—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Her eyes widened. "Nothing happened?" she repeated, voice trembling. "So you were with a woman?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Then why is her scent all over you, if nothing happened like you claimed?" Her tears spilled freely now, "You promised, Xavier. You swore you'd never cheat or hurt me. And yet here we are."
Xavier's heart pounded like thunder. He couldn't lie anymore. His legs gave way, and he knelt before her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm a coward. I messed up. I swear, I didn't cheat. It almost happened, but I stopped myself."
"Who was it?" she demanded, her voice cold.
He said nothing.
"Answer me, Xavier. And you better not lie to me."
He swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes.
"Diana," he said finally, almost in a whisper.
Golden let out a shaky laugh, half pain, half fury, "Of course. I sensed it. I knew it. She never gives up on her prey, right?"
"She can never have me, Gold. Never," he said quickly.
"And you expect me to believe that?" she snapped. "You reek of her perfume, Xavier!"
Her voice cracked, but her glare didn't waver.
"Besides, where have you been staying all those nights?"
"At the hotel. Alone."
"Alone?" she scoffed. "Alright."
She dropped the shirt and turned for the door.
"Where are you going?" Xavier asked, voice trembling.
She turned halfway, eyes glistening with heartbreak, "And how does that concern you?"
Then she walked out, slamming the door so hard it echoed through the house.
Xavier slumped to the floor, face in his hands, "This is a mess. A huge mess."
Golden rushed into her room, broke down completely. The tears came hot and fast, the kind that burn the throat and leave the heart hollow. Then, slowly, her heart hardened. He'd broken his promise. There was no point staying in his house anymore.
She stood, wiped her tears, and began to pack. Just a few clothes. The essentials. She picked up her car keys and walked out.
By the time Xavier gathered the courage to knock on her door, it was too late. He called her name — no answer. Opened the door — empty.
He searched the rooms, the kitchen, the porch.
Then ran out and asked the security man.
"Madam drove out not long ago," the man said quietly.
Xavier froze. He ran back inside, picked up his phone, and dialed her number. Switched off. He stared at the screen, helpless.
Then, slowly, his eyes wandered across the living room — the throw pillow she'd hugged, the sketchbook on the couch, her slippers by the chair.
All the years of silence, the arguments, the neglect — they all came rushing back like a flood.
He sank into the chair, his face buried in his palms, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"I destroyed my home," he whispered. "With my own hands."