Chapter 21
DAMIEN
31%
The office felt unbearable. My fingers tapped against the edge of the desk as I stared at my phone again. Still nothing. No call, no message. It was driving me insane. I ran a hand through my hair and let out a frustrated sigh. Why hadn’t Rosalie reached out?
23
I had called the caregiver and the cook earlier, wanting to check on her. Neither of them answered. What the hell were they doing? They were supposed to look after her. My jaw tightened, and I stared at the phone screen as if willing it to ring would fix everything.
Finally, I’d had enough. Tossing my pen onto the desk, I grabbed my keys and stormed out. Whatever was happening at home, I needed to see for myself. The thought of her sick and alone while those two women ignored my calls gnawed at me.
The drive home was a blur. My grip on the steering wheel was tight, my mind spinning with worst–case scenarios. By the time I reached the house, my frustration had boiled over into anger.
I pushed the front door open and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind me. The sound echoed through the house. For a moment, I listened, trying to pick up on anything out of place. Then, I heard the faint sound of the cleaning brushes and quiet chatter coming from the living room.
Following the noise, I found Margaret and Maria moving about, tidying up like nothing was wrong.
“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, my voice sharp enough to make both women freeze in place.
Margaret turned to me, holding a duster. “Mr. Hale, we were-”
“Don’t even try it,” I snapped, stepping closer. “I’ve been calling both of you all day! Do you even bother to check your phones, or is that too much effort?”
Maria looked at me with wide, nervous eyes. “Sir, we were just cleaning the house and didn’t notice-”
“Didn’t notice?” I cut her off, my voice rising. “Your job isn’t to obsess over dust and dishes. It’s to take care of my wife. So I’ll ask again–what were you doing all day that was more important than answering my calls?”
Margaret stammered, “We were just making sure everything was in order. We didn’t mean—”
“Enough!” I barked. “You didn’t mean to ignore me? You didn’t mean to neglect your responsibility? What if something had happened to Rosalie while you were too busy tidying up? Do you think I pay you to let her fend for herself?”
“Mr. Hale, we’re sorry,” Maria said, her voice trembling. “It won’t happen again, I swear.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix anything!” I snapped. “Both of you are careless and completely useless. I don’t trust either of you Rosalie. You’re fired.”
with
Margaret’s face paled, and she dropped the duster to the floor. Both women fell to their knees, desperation written all over
their faces.
“Please, Mr. Hale,” Maria begged, tears forming in her eyes. “We’ll do better. We won’t let this happen again. Don’t fire us, please.”
Their pleading only fueled my anger further. “Save it. You’re both out. Pack your things and get out of my house.”
“Mr. Hale-” Margaret started, but I silenced her with a glare.
1/3
Chapter 21
“Get. Out,” I said through clenched teeth.
As they scrambled to collect themselves, movement caught my eye. I turned toward the stairs and froze.
31%
+23
Rosalie stood there, watching everything unfold. Her face was pale, her posture rigid, but it was her eyes that stopped me in my tracks. Anger blazed in them, her disdain for me clear. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned and walked back down the hallway, her silence cutting deeper than anything she could have said.
“Rosalie!” I called after her, my voice softer now, but she didn’t stop.
I moved quickly, my anger at the staff fading into something else entirely. Taking the stairs two at a time, I caught up with her in the hallway and gently grabbed her arm.
“Rosalie, wait,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
She stopped but didn’t look at me. Her body was stiff, her shoulders tense.
“Rosalie,” I said, my tone bordering on a plea. My eyes searched hers, desperate to connect with something–anything–but all I found was defiance. “How are you feeling? You don’t look… better.”
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and unforgiving, and her silence was a punishment I felt down to my core. I shifted uneasily, guilt gnawing at me.
“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” I continued. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you recover. Those two women- Margaret and Maria–they’ve been fired. I can’t let people like that stay under my roof, slacking off and leaving you unattended. You deserve better.”
Still, she said nothing, her gaze burning through me. It was as though every unspoken word she held back twisted a knife deeper into my chest. I clenched my jaw and tried again.
“Rosalie,” I repeated, more firmly now, though my voice carried an edge of desperation. “Say something.
Finally, she tilted her head, her expression cold, detached. When she spoke, her voice cut like ice.
“You are a selfish dictator who believes whatever you do is right and everyone else is wrong.”
The words hit me like a brick wall. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I just stared at her, unsure how to respond.
“What?” I managed to say, my voice low and rough, more from confusion than anger. “How is that selfish? I fired them because they weren’t doing their job. Everything I’ve done–everything I’m doing–is for you. To make sure you’re cared for.”
Her lips curved into the faintest semblance of a bitter smile, though her eyes were anything but amused.
“You fired two women who have been nothing but helpful to me,” she said, her voice rising just slightly, her words like daggers aimed directly at me. “And you claim they’re unreliable? Damien, it was you who made me ill in the first place.”
I froze, her accusation cutting through the fragile wall I’d built to justify my actions. The memory of that night surfaced with brutal clarity–her curled up outside, shivering and pleading, my cold indifference in the face of her suffering.
My stomach churned. She was right.
“I…” The word stuck in my throat, my voice faltering. I tore my gaze away from hers, my fists clenching at my sides.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted, my voice raw and strained. “I don’t… I don’t know how to be what you want, Rosalie. I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can, but-”
9/2
1
19:39 Mon, 17 Feb
Chapter 21
I shook my head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.
“I’ll bring them back,” I said suddenly, my words tumbling out in a rush. “Margaret and Maria–I’ll rehire them. If they’ve been helping you, I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything. I promise.”
Her expression didn’t change. Her silence felt heavier than her words, and it crushed me. My breath hitched, and I stepped closer, my hands trembling as I lifted them to her face.
“Say something,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Please, Rosalie. Tell me what to do. Yell at me. Hate me. Just… say something.”
Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, finally met mine. For a moment, I thought I’d broken through the wall between us, but then she slowly, deliberately, pulled away from my touch.
The movement felt like a slap, deliberate in its rejection.
“I-“I began, but the words died in my throat as she turned and walked away
one growing fainter, echoed in the I stood frozen, watching her retreat down the hallway. The sound of her footsteps, each hollow silence she left behind. My arms dropped to my sides, useless, as the weight of everything I’d done–everything I’d become–crushed down on me.
I laughed bitterly, the sound empty and hollow.
“What am I supposed to do, Rosalie?” I muttered, though she was too far to hear.
For the first time in years, I felt utterly powerless. And it was all my fault.
Comment
