Richard went into his study and closed the door quietly behind him. The house felt strangely still, a hush that seemed to rest on fragile glass. Drew and Chloe had gone upstairs, each retreating to their own rooms, giving each other space in that quiet, instinctive way they had developed over the years. He was grateful they had grown close, that they leaned on one another when the world felt uncertain.
He took out his phone, stared at Eleanor's name, and drew in one steady breath before pressing call.
She answered almost instantly.
"Yes," she said. No greeting. No warmth. Just a clipped shard of impatience.
"It's me," Richard said. "I wanted to let you know we'll meet with you another day."
A beat. Then a sharp exhale loud enough to carry through the speaker. "Another day. Why? Have they changed their minds?"
"They need more time," he said, keeping his voice even. "This cannot be rushed."
"I see," she replied, though her tone suggested she saw nothing at all. "Fine. If they need time, they need time."
Richard nodded despite the emptiness between them.
"Thank you."
Silence hovered for a moment, and he realised this might be the only opportunity to ask the questions that had been gnawing at him since the night she reappeared.
"Eleanor," he said quietly. "Where are you living now?"
"In Notting Hill," she replied, her voice lifting with a hint of pride. "I bought myself a little flat. It's small, but it suits me."
He closed his eyes for a moment. The image of her strolling down Portobello Road or sitting in some pristine café scraped against something raw inside him. Not longing. Not jealousy. Something colder. A quiet anger at everything she had chosen instead of their children.
He opened his eyes.
"Can I ask you something else?"
"You may," she said, granting permission like she was indulging a stranger.
"Did you feel bad for cheating on me?" His voice remained steady. The tremor stayed buried inside.
Silence stretched. One heartbeat. Two.
Finally she said, "I don't see it as cheating."
Richard blinked. "You don't... what?"
"I never loved Toby. It was just physical. It didn't mean anything. It wasn't emotional."
An old fault line inside him shifted.
"Eleanor, it is still cheating," he said gently. "Not caring for him doesn't erase the betrayal."
"You're being dramatic," she said. "I was lonely. I was overwhelmed. And you were always working. Always. I had no one."
"That isn't true," Richard replied quietly. "You had me. You had the children. Anything you needed, I tried to give you. But you didn't want the parts that required authenticity or effort."
She made a dismissive sound, but he continued.
"One more thing. Why did you manipulate Jane into giving Sienna a job?"
A crackle on the line. Then her voice rose, sharp and furious.
"How dare you judge me? How dare you pretend you were innocent? You spent hours in the office with Isabelle, and you still messaged her after work. You expect me to believe nothing was going on?"
Richard let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Nothing happened, Eleanor. I was never attracted to Isabelle."
"She's beautiful," she muttered. "You always looked at her too long."
"You had no reason to be insecure. I only ever loved you." His voice softened. "But you would not look past the fact that she and I worked together. You created an affair in your mind that never existed."
She made a frustrated noise, but he pressed on, his voice gaining steadiness.
"Your jealousy of Isabelle wasn't the reason our marriage fell apart. That was a symptom. The real reason was that you put more effort into your appearance and social reputation than you ever put into our marriage. You loved being admired. And when you didn't receive enough attention, you caused trouble. You needed to feel seen."
Silence settled again, deeper, weighted.
"I should have talked about this sooner," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for that. I'm not reopening anything. I don't want to get back together with you. That isn't why I'm asking."
She inhaled sharply.
"I need to know," he continued, "why you never apologised for cheating. And why you didn't try to stay and work things out for the children. I'm not asking for myself. They deserve the truth. I want to know what you'll tell them."
For the first time in the entire conversation, Eleanor sounded neither defensive nor irritated. Just quiet.
Nearly twenty seconds passed.
"It was a mistake," she whispered. "Trying to see them again. I'm not... ready."
Richard closed his eyes. A breath scraped its way down his throat, but he kept his voice calm.
"You don't need to be ready now," he said gently. "Take time. We can try again in a week."
"We'll see," she murmured. "I'll message you. We need a fresh start."
"Alright. I'll wait for your message."
She hung up without another word.
Richard lowered the phone, letting his hand fall to his side. He drew a long, slow breath, the kind a person releases when an invisible weight lifts only a fraction, but enough to notice.
When he walked into the kitchen, Drew stood at the stove stirring a pot of spaghetti. Steam curled around him, softening the lines of his face. He looked older in that light, and yet impossibly young.
Richard leaned against the doorway, watching him. He remembered holding Drew as a newborn, a tiny, furious bundle who quieted only when Richard rested his cheek on the top of his head. Now that same boy stood nearly as tall as he was, cooking lunch with a patience that made Richard's chest ache.
Pride swelled quietly.
And then, unexpectedly, another thought surfaced.
Helene.
The suddenness of it startled him. He tried to push it away, but the thought returned as stubborn as breath. The way she listened. Her steady gaze. The gentleness in her laugh. The way she seemed to see through him without ever pushing.
He shook his head, but the thought lingered like warmth on a chilled window.
"Lunch is nearly ready," Drew said, still facing the stove.
"It smells wonderful," Richard replied.
They ate at the table, the three of them. Chloe joined them when she smelled the sauce, sitting opposite Richard, her eyes still shadowed but steadier. Drew ate in silence, glancing up now and then as though checking that the world had not shifted while he wasn't looking.
Richard tried to focus on the meal and on the relief of not seeing Eleanor today. But Helene slipped into his thoughts like a soft echo he couldn't silence.
After lunch, Drew and Chloe rinsed plates and loaded the dishwasher. They moved around each other with an ease that made something warm settle in Richard's chest.
He picked up his phone. Frowning, he realised he didn't have Helene's number.
That felt wrong. She had been so steadfast, so generous to Robert and Isabelle, and now she was alone in their house with the children while they celebrated their wedding miles away.
He murmured, almost to himself, "I should check that they're alright."
Chloe looked over. "Who?"
"Helene," he said. "And the children. With Robert and Isabelle gone, I should make sure everything's okay."
Drew dried his hands on a towel. "Will you be gone long?"
"A few hours," Richard said. "I just need to see them."
He grabbed his coat and keys. "Call me if you need anything."
They nodded, both watching him with quiet understanding.
Outside, the cool air felt sharper, cleaner. Like stepping out of one version of himself and into another.
He climbed into his car and started the engine. As he pulled away from the house, a small, unfamiliar warmth flickered in his chest.
Not dread.
Not confusion.
Something gentler.
Something that felt like hope.