Chapter 152 021
EXACTLY three days later, and Charles still hadn’t called.
Not once. Not even a missed call. A mistake. Anything.
Minutes had turned into hours, hours into days, and a full three days rolled by in cruel silence. No apology. No explanation. No excuse dressed up as concern. Not even a careless text message. Nothing. The absence of his voice pressed on Amelia’s nerves like a weight she couldn’t shrug off, tightening around her chest, creeping into her thoughts when she least expected it.
She tried not to think too much about it. Truly, she did. But thoughts had a way of misbehaving when given too much room. Questions she didn’t want began to surface anyway. Had he ignored her deliberately? Had he decided she wasn’t worth the effort? Or worse, had he simply moved on, unaffected, unbothered, while she sat here replaying everything over and over?
It cornered her. Tightly. So tightly.
By Friday morning, routine was the only thing keeping her sane.
The house buzzed with its usual early-day rhythm. Hazel moved briskly from room to room, helping the twins get dressed, adjusting collars, tying shoelaces, reminding them— twice— to pack their bags properly. Amelia was in her room, already dressed for work, slipping documents into her bag with mechanical precision.
When she stepped into the dining area, handbag over her shoulder and a slim folder tucked under her arm, the boys were already seated at the table.
“Good morning, my loves,” Amelia said, forcing a smile.
“Good morning, Mommy,” Gabriel replied softly.
Gaddiel grinned.
“Morning Mommy!”
Hazel wasn’t at the table yet; she was still in the kitchen, the clatter of plates and cutlery announcing her presence.
Amelia set her bag down and looked at the boys.
“How was your night?”
“Good,” Gaddiel said quickly. “I slept fast.”
Gabriel nodded. “I slept too.”
“And your hand?” Amelia asked, her eyes drifting automatically to the faint bandage still wrapped around Gabriel’s left hand.
“It is better,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
She exhaled in relief.
“Good. I’m glad.”
Hazel emerged from the kitchen then, carrying a tray. She began setting the table with practiced ease, placing plates in front of everyone, dishing out food carefully.
“So,” Amelia said casually, “how was school yesterday?”
Gaddiel shrugged. “Okay.”
“We just went back,” Gabriel added.
“Yes,” Amelia said gently. “You boys stayed home for a few days, remember?”
“Since Monday,” Gaddiel said. “We didn’t go Tuesday and Wednesday.”
“And Thursday we went,” Gabriel finished.
Amelia nodded.
“Exactly. I wanted to be sure Gabriel was okay before sending you back.”
Hazel shot her a brief look but said nothing, continuing to serve breakfast.
“Did you finish your home-funs?” Amelia asked.
“Yes,” Gaddiel said proudly. “Hazel checked it.”
Hazel finally spoke.
“They did fine.”
Amelia smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Everyone settled into their seats, and the quiet clinking of cutlery filled the room as they began to eat. For a few moments, the normalcy almost soothed her. Almost.
Hazel poured juice into the boys’ cups, then sat down herself.
“You have everything for school?” Amelia asked.
“Yes, Mommy,” the twins replied in unison.
“Alright.”
She watched them eat, watched Hazel keep a careful eye on Gabriel, watched the familiar rhythm of her family unfold, and still, beneath it all, the silence screamed.
Three days.
Charles hadn’t called.
What Amelia didn’t know, what she couldn’t see yet was that elsewhere, far removed from her quiet morning routine, reality was beginning to tighten its grip on Charles too. The carefree days were thinning out, the comfort he had grown used to slowly slipping away. And with money running low and options shrinking, Amelia’s name had begun to surface again in his thoughts.
Not out of remorse.
But necessity.
For now, though, Amelia pushed the unease aside, lifted her cup, and took a slow sip of her drink, pretending, just for this moment, that everything was exactly as it should be.
Charles sat at the dining table of his apartment, his laptop open before him, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly on his tired face. Empty coffee cups littered one side of the table, and his phone lay beside the laptop, vibrating suddenly, sharply, as though impatient.
He glanced at the caller ID and frowned.
“Yeah?” he answered, pressing the phone to his ear while his other hand hovered uncertainly over the keyboard.
There was no greeting from the other end. Just a rushed voice. It was low and tight.
“Charles, we need to talk.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“Now?” he asked, eyes darting to the figures on his screen. “Can’t this wait?”
“No. It can’t.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
“Alright. Talk.”
A pause followed— too long. When the voice returned, it sounded strained.
“We are stuck.”
“What do you mean, stuck?” Charles said, sitting upright again. “You said everything was on track last week.”
“It was. But things changed.”
Charles laughed softly, nervously.
“Things don’t just ‘change.’ What happened?”
“The team is waiting,” the caller said. “We can’t move forward like this.”
Charles’s fingers curled into his palm.
“Forward how? Be specific.”
Another pause. Papers shuffled on the other end of the line.
“We have delayed two timelines already. The designers are asking questions. The developers too.”
“And?” Charles snapped. “Tell them to wait. That is what they are paid for.”
Silence.
“Say something,” Charles said sharply.
“We can’t keep telling them that,” the caller replied. “They want… assurances.”
Charles swallowed.
“Assurances of what?”
“You know exactly what.”
His gaze dropped to the laptop screen again, to numbers that refused to look comforting no matter how long he stared.
“This isn’t funny,” he muttered.
“No one is joking.”
He pushed his chair back and stood, pacing the length of the dining area.
“You said we were covered,” he said. “You said everything was settled.”
“It was… until it wasn’t,” the caller replied carefully. “We have exhausted what we had access to.”
Charles stopped pacing.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“You are telling me this now?”
“We thought you would have… something arranged by now.”
Charles scoffed.
“Arranged how?”
Another heavy silence.
“Charles,” the caller said slowly, “we need direction. Or a decision.”
His hand trembled slightly as he adjusted his grip on the phone.
“I told you I’m handling it.”
“When?” the voice pressed.
“Soon,” Charles said too quickly.
“That is not an answer.”
Charles exhaled sharply.
“Look, just… stall them. Give me a few days.”
“A few days?” the caller repeated. “We don’t have that luxury.”
“You are exaggerating.”
“I’m not,” the voice said firmly. “If nothing changes, we shut things down. Temporarily.”
The word hit him harder than he expected.
“Don’t do that,” Charles said immediately. “Just— don’t.”
“Then give us something to work with.”
Charles closed his eyes, his free hand pressing against his forehead.
“I will call you back,” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Let me… sort something out.”
“Charles—”
“I said I will call you back,” he snapped, then ended the call before another word could be said.
The phone slipped from his hand onto the table.
Charles stood there for a long moment, staring at the blank laptop screen, his chest rising and falling too fast, the weight of reality finally settling in around him.