Chapter 68 The silence of the signal
The morning air in the suburbs was thick with the scent of damp pavement and the low hum of neighborly life. After dropping Leo off at daycare—his small hand waving a sticky goodbye that usually brought a smile to my face—I returned to a house that felt too large, too quiet, and far too empty.
I started to clean. It was a nervous, frantic sort of tidying, the kind where you scrub surfaces that are already shining because your hands need to be busier than your mind. But midway through wiping down the kitchen counter, the sponge slowed. My eyes drifted to my phone, lying on the granite like a dormant, black mirror.
The time difference. The recovery room. The antiseptic halls of Istanbul.
I picked it up, my fingers trembling as I dialed Victor’s international number. I held the phone to my ear, listening to the hollow, rhythmic click-hiss of an overseas connection that refused to catch.
Nothing.
I tried again. And a third time. By the fourth attempt, the mechanical voice telling me the subscriber was unavailable felt like a personal insult.
"Please, Victor," I whispered into the empty kitchen. "Just a sign. Just a word."
Frantic now, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Vane. He was the anchor, the man who always knew the movement of the Blackwood orbit. I pressed call, and it rang—one, two, three, four times—before the line clicked open.
"Morning, our sunshine," Vane’s voice crackled through, sounding hurried and distorted by wind. "How are you doing?"
"I'm good, Vane... just stressed," I said, my voice rising an octave. "I’ve been trying to call Victor with no luck. Have you heard anything? Any word from him, maybe? Is the surgery over?"
There was a brief, agonizing pause on the other end. "Umm... Elena. Nothing on my side either. I haven't been able to reach them. Even the parents aren't replying to my pings. But don't worry—they will call. The recovery protocols over there are strict."
"It’s stressing me now, Vane," I said, leaning my forehead against the cool surface of the refrigerator. "I have this feeling in my gut. I just need to know he made it off that table."
"They will reach out, El. Don't stress. Look, I need to rush—I’m in a hurry on this end. I’ll call you the second I hear the bird chirp, okay?"
"Bye, Vane."
The line went dead. I sat on the kitchen chair, the silence of the house rushing back in to suffocate me. I took a deep, jagged breath, my hand instinctively resting on my stomach. The "special news" I had promised Victor felt like a heavy stone in my pocket.
Then, my thumb drifted. Almost against my will, I pulled up Liam’s contact. I stared at the name for several seconds, fear and guilt warring in my chest. Where did you go, Liam? Why did you leave? I pressed the call button.
“The mobile subscriber you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Voicemail. Again. It was as if both men had vanished from the face of the earth, leaving me standing on a deserted island.
I was still sitting there, slumped over the table with the phone clutched in my hand, when the front door opened. I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat. It was my father. He walked in, his heavy boots thudding softly on the floor, his face set in that same impenetrable, stoic mask he had worn the night before.
I tried to stand up, my first instinct being to retreat to the safety of my bedroom, to avoid the judgment I knew was coming.
"Elena," he said, his voice a low, commanding rumble.
I stopped mid-motion, my hand gripping the back of the chair. "Morning, Dad. I was just... I was going to go finish the laundry."
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the couch in the living room. "I want to speak to you."
I walked into the living room, feeling like a child caught in a lie. I sat on the edge of the cushions, my posture stiff. He sat opposite me, leaning forward, his weathered hands clasped between his knees. He didn't look at my face; he looked at my hands, which were still twisting the hem of my shirt.
"You look like you're waiting for the world to end, Elena," he began quietly.
"I'm just worried about Victor’s surgery, Dad. I haven't heard anything."
"Is it the surgery?" he asked, finally raising his eyes to mine. "Or is it the weight of the choices you’ve made? I heard you on the phone. Trying to find the Blackwood boy. Trying to find Liam."
I looked away, the sting of tears returning. "I just wanted to check on Liam. He... he told me his side of the story yesterday. About the accident. About Monica."
"And did you believe him?"
"I don't know," I whispered. "But he’s gone, Dad. He moved out. He cleared his apartment and vanished."
My father let out a long, weary sigh. "A man who feels he has no place left in his own home will always find a way to disappear, Elena. You brought him here. You sat him at our table. You told us he was the one. And then, as soon as a man with more power and a bigger name looked your way, Liam became an inconvenience."
"It wasn't like that!" I protested, my voice cracking. "Victor treated me like I mattered. He saw my talent. He gave me a future I didn't think I could have!"
"A future," my father repeated, his voice laced with a bitter irony. "And what about the child you're carrying? Does this 'future' include a father who only loves you because you were the one to hold his hand while he couldn't walk? What happens when he stands up, Elena? What happens when he realizes he can have any woman in the world, and he looks at the girl from the suburbs and sees a reminder of his darkest days?"
I flinched as if he’d slapped me. "Victor loves me. He told me he’s coming back for me."
"Men say many things when they are afraid and broken," he said sternly. "But I see you now. I see you stressed, unable to reach either of them, carrying a life that will forever be a point of contention. You’ve traded a man who loved you for who you were for a man who loves you for what you did for him. Liam was part of us. This Blackwood... he is a guest who stayed too long."
"You're wrong about him, Dad," I said, tears streaming down my face. "And you're wrong about me. I didn't do this for the luxury. I did it because for the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn't just 'Liam’s girlfriend' or 'the girl from the bakery.' I felt like Elena."
"And now you're 'the girl carrying the Blackwood heir,'" he countered, standing up. He looked down at me, his expression softening just a fraction, but the disappointment remained. "I hope for your sake, and for that baby’s sake, that your 'sunshine' wakes up and remembers who you are. Because if he doesn't, Elena... you’ve burned your bridges to stay on an island that’s sinking."
He turned and walked toward the hallway, leaving me alone in the dim light of the living room. His words felt like a cold shroud, wrapping around the tiny, flickering hope I had been trying to nurture.
I looked at my phone again. Still silent. Still dark.
I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes, the weight of my father’s judgment pressing down on me. I was a woman caught in the middle of a war I hadn't asked for, carrying a child whose very existence was being used as a weapon against my character.
The surgery was happening. Liam was gone. And as the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, I realized that the only person I could truly rely on was the person I was still struggling to find: myself.