The Road Home Was Empty

Brent returned from another trip with gifts for Evelyn and her daughter, Eva. This time, news of his grand gesture broke online before he even landeda medieval Scottish castle bought to fulfill their princess fantasies.

He walked in frustrated. The media ruins everything, he muttered. I spent weeks securing that estate, and some reporter steals the surprise.

I cut him off. "Wheres my gift?"

He blinked, then tossed a cheap plastic magnet onto the table. "Figured you'd love another souvenir. Go on, guess the city."

I stared at the mass-produced junk, its barcode still peeling off. Sixty-eight trips. Sixty-eight magnets. Meanwhile, Evelyn and Eva got custom jewelry, antiques, and now a castle.

The exhaustion settled into my bones. Right in front of him, I tore every identical magnet off the fridge and threw them in the trash.

"Cheap plastic garbage," I said, a bitter smile on my lips. "What made you think I ever liked these?"

Brent frowned, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation.

"Audrey, don't be so childish," he said. "If you don't like them, tell me what you want, and I will bring it back next time."

I met his gaze, my voice flat. "Do you even know what I like, Brent?"

"What do you like, then?"

"When you bought those gifts for Evelyn, did you ever have to ask what she liked?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. That was why every gift he gave her was a thrilling surprise. In eight years, Brent had managed to anticipate every single one of her desires, yet he knew absolutely nothing about his own wife.

Brent chuckled, dismissing the tension as if it were a minor annoyance.

"It has been so long, Audrey. Are you really still jealous of her? I told you before, we have to keep Evelyn's emotions stable. If she spirals, what will happen to her daughter? Right?"

We?

Yes, I had been dragged into this twisted sense of duty too. Evelyn had suffered from severe depression after her messy divorce, and her mental health remained fragile. Because of her, and because of Eva, Brent had to be on call twenty-four hours a day.

He would leave at a moment's notice, whether it was a holiday, in the middle of our private moments, when I was sick, or on the day our five-month-old daughter died. One phone call from Evelyn, and he would run to her.

And my only job was to endure. To swallow the loneliness, the rage, and the grief.

Seeing my silence, Brent stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me.

"Alright, next time I go abroad, write me a wishlist. I promise to buy everything on it, okay?"

I wanted to tell him not to bother, but before the words could leave my mouth, the front door clicked open.

"Uncle Brent! When are you taking Mommy and me to our castle?"

It was Eva and Evelyn. Brent had given them the security code to our house without my consent. He had said, "Our home is Evelyn's home too, Audrey. She should feel welcome."

Only now did I realize that this was indeed their home, and I was the intruder.

Brent immediately let go of me and scooped Eva up in his arms. "How about tomorrow?"

My chest tightened with a sharp, physical ache. I thought of our honeymoon, a trip we had planned for eight years but never took. Every year, when I asked him about it, he said he was too busy. He was too busy for me, yet he could always find the time to whisk Evelyn and Eva away on a whim.

"So soon? I haven't even packed yet," Evelyn murmured, gently swatting Brent's shoulder, her eyes brimming with delight.

"No need to pack. I'll have everything bought and waiting for you," Brent said, smiling.

Watching the three of them, they looked like a perfect, happy family. It made my eyes sting.

Evelyn finally seemed to notice me, stepping forward to warmly take my hand. "Audrey, you should come with us! The more, the merrier. Brent is so wasteful, buying such a massive place. There is no way we can use all that space. You can choose a room for yourself, Audrey, your own little corner."

Her words reminded me of the tiny magnet in the trash. A grand castle for them, and a single, small room for me. That was my worth in their eyes, and in his.

I pulled my hand back, my voice cold. "I'm not going."

Evelyn's face fell, her expression turning hurt and apologetic. "Are you upset with me, Audrey?"

Brent frowned, drawing Evelyn behind him. "Audrey, don't take your moods out on others. I'll take them for just two days, and you can use the time to cool down. Send me what you want."

"Uncle Brent, I got a new princess dress! Come see it at our house!" Eva urged, pulling at his sleeve.

Brent agreed. He hadn't even been home for an hour, and he was already leaving with them.

I called out to him before he could step through the door. "Brent, do you even know what tomorrow is?"

"What?" Brent looked back, genuinely confused.

"It is our daughter's memorial."

Brent froze, a look of conflict finally crossing his face.

Seeing his hesitation, Eva's lower lip trembled, and she began to cry. "Are we not going? No, Uncle Brent! Eva has been waiting for days! You promised!"

Evelyn pulled Eva back, her voice firm but gentle. "Eva, stop. Audrey has something very important to do with your uncle Brent today."

They called me Audrey, but they called him Uncle Brent, as if he and I had no relation at all. And Brent had never once corrected them.

Brent looked at Eva's tear-stained face, then turned to me with a sigh of helplessness. "The itinerary is already set, Audrey. It's difficult to reschedule. How about I make it up to you? I'll head straight to the cemetery to visit Grace the moment I get back."

He was suggesting we postpone a memorial. It was laughable, really. He only dared to suggest it because Grace could no longer cry or call him "Daddy." But she was his flesh and blood, only five months old when she passed. It had been six years since we lost her, and I wondered how many times he had actually thought of her. Not a single toy he bought Eva ever made its way to Grace's grave. He had even forgotten her memorial.

My hands shook at my sides. I took a deep, shuddering breath and finally spoke. "Fine."

Grace probably didn't want to see this kind of father anyway.

Brent sighed in relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you for understanding, Audrey. Pick any gift you want, and I'll find it, no matter how far I have to go."

I looked at the drawer of the coffee table, a quiet decision solidifying in my mind. I forced a faint smile. "Go on then."

They left.

I stood in the quiet living room for a long time before opening the drawer to pull out the divorce agreement. It had been sitting there for two months, drafted the day after I received his last cheap souvenir. Back then, a tiny shred of hope still lingered in my heart. I had told myself that if Brent showed some real care on his next trip, I would rip the papers up. Now, there was no need. This agreement would be the gift I requested.

The next morning, Brent left early. He pressed a light kiss to my forehead before slipping out, the one ritual he never forgot, the last soft spot in my heart. My eyelashes fluttered, but I pretended to sleep. Now, even that soft spot had turned to stone.

Once he was gone, I got out of bed. I packed a basket with toys and sweets and drove to the cemetery alone.

Six years ago, during a raging storm, Evelyn had called to say she was terrified, and Brent had rushed to her side. There were no cars, cabs were impossible to find, and the emergency lines were completely busy. Out of options, I had wrapped my feverish baby girl in a waterproof bag, strapped her to my back, and run through the pouring rain to the hospital.

By the time I arrived, it was too late.

Brent didn't see her lifeless body until the next day. He wept and said he was sorry, but the funeral was rushed because Eva had fallen ill, and he had to go nurse her.

"He wasn't a good father, Grace," I whispered, kneeling before the headstone. "Don't think of him, it will only make you sad."

"You're right. I wasn't a good father. I'm sorry."

The voice behind me made my entire body freeze. I turned around in disbelief to find Brent standing there, holding a plush rabbit, his head bowed.

"Weren't you supposed to be on a flight?" I asked.

"The flight was grounded due to the weather. The trip has been delayed."

So, it was because of a flight delay, not guilt. Knowing the truth actually made me feel lighter.

He knelt beside me, placing the plush rabbit down. I recognized it instantly. It was the stuffed animal he had bought Eva last holiday season.

"Isn't this the toy you got for Eva?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Yes, but she has too many toys to play with. This one is practically brand new."

My eyes burned with unshed tears. "You brought a secondhand toy that someone else didn't want for our daughter?"

"I didn't think about it that way," Brent said, looking baffled. "Do you want me to go buy a new one right now?"

I snatched the rabbit and threw it back into his arms. "No need. Grace doesn't want it."

Brent's face darkened as he held the toy. "Audrey, we shouldn't fight in front of our daughter's grave."

"We shouldn't. But you've done plenty of things you shouldn't have, or our daughter wouldn't have died in the first place!"

I stood up abruptly, casting one last look at the headstone before walking away. Brent caught up to me at the cemetery gates, grabbing my arm.

"Stop being angry," he pleaded. "Evelyn felt terrible for holding me back, so she cooked a whole dinner for you. Let me take you there."

"No."

"Audrey, can you stop making a scene? We are trying our best to make it up to you, especially Evelyn. She is struggling with her own illness, yet she's still thinking of you!"

"Oh, so you've always known you were hurting me?" I asked, looking at him with mock surprise. "Then why keep doing it? Do you think a plate of food or a few cheap gifts can erase the damage? Can it bring my daughter back, or make me forget the scars?"

Brent froze, the grip on my wrist tightening. For the first time, I saw real guilt and panic flicker in his eyes.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "Audrey, I was careless. I neglected you. Let's not go to Evelyn's. Let's have dinner, just the two of us. I'll spend the whole day with you."

We hadn't gone on a date in years. He knew it, but he had waited until our marriage was in ruins to try and change. I didn't refuse him. I wanted to see just how far his sudden guilt would carry him.

We drove away from the cemetery, and he took me to a small, quiet diner we used to frequent when we were dating. It had been seven years since we last stepped foot inside, but the rustic decor hadn't changed at all.

The owner came over to greet us, his eyes widening when he saw me. "Well, look at that! After all these years, this lovely girl is still by your side!"

I froze. Brent quickly interrupted, his expression tense. "Actually, we're married now."

"Really? Then the other woman and child you've been bringing here these past few years..."

Before the owner could finish, his wife slapped his shoulder. "Mind your business and get back to the kitchen! Sorry, dear, my husband gets confused easily. Don't mind him."

But I knew he wasn't confused. The other woman and child were Evelyn and Eva. Even this sanctuary of our past had been overwritten by them, and Brent was the one who did it. It was fine. Leaving would be easier if nothing was left untainted.

"Audrey, don't overthink it," Brent whispered quickly. "Evelyn is a picky eater, and this is one of the few places she actually likes. That's why I brought her here."

"I don't own the restaurant," I replied, looking down at the menu. "Bring whoever you want."

Brent's fingers twitched, but he didn't press the matter. He turned to the owner's wife and ordered my old favorite dishes, all of them spicy.

"Actually, I can't eat spicy food anymore," I said. "Let's get something mild."

Brent stared at me. "Since when?"

I offered him a thin smile. "Since my tumor surgery."

Three years ago, I had a benign stomach tumor removed. When I told Brent about the diagnosis, he was on vacation in Paris with Evelyn. "Since it's benign, I won't rush back," he had said over the phone. "I'll ask my parents to look after you." The medical consent form had listed a fifty percent risk of complications, but he had ignored it, or perhaps he had never bothered to read it. My parents had stayed with me until I was discharged.

Brent's face drained of color. "Why didn't you tell me? If I had known, I would have come back."

"There was no need. We barely eat together anyway." This dinner would likely be our last.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down. "I'll make sure to be there for you from now on."

I offered no response.

When the food arrived, it tasted like ash in my mouth. Food only tastes good when you're sharing it with the right person. Sitting across from someone who made my chest ache, every bite felt like a chore.

As I swallowed the last bite, Brent's phone rang. It was Evelyn, her voice trembling and wet with tears.

"Brent, Eva couldn't wait for you guys. She tried to climb onto the table to eat and got burned by the hot soup. Brent, what should I do?"

Brent stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. "Didn't I tell you not to wait for us?"

"But Audrey didn't come, and I felt so guilty. Brent, is this my fault? Am I just a burden?"

Brent broke into a cold sweat. "Calm down. I'm coming right over."

He hung up and turned to me, his gaze suddenly cold. "If you hadn't thrown a tantrum today, this wouldn't have happened. Are you satisfied with this kind of payback?"

Brent rushed out into the pouring rain, his figure quickly disappearing into the gray sheets of water.

I let out a soft laugh, picked up my fork, and kept eating.

The owner's wife walked by, and I looked up at her. "The food is still as wonderful as it was years ago."

She pulled a tissue from her apron and gently handed it to me. "Thank you, dear. But let me get you a tissue, otherwise the food will taste too salty."

I reached up to touch my cheek. I was crying. I still hadn't managed to hold back the tears. It was pathetic, really.

I took a cab back to the house.

The balcony window had been left open, and the plants we had bought together at the nursery were broken and drowned by the storm. They wouldn't survive. Brent had never cared for them, leaving all the watering and pruning to me. Now, I didn't have to care anymore.

I opened the closet. Most of the clothes inside were mine. Over the years, Brent's wardrobe had slowly migrated to Evelyn's place, piece by piece. I packed my belongings into a single suitcase, placed the signed divorce papers on the coffee table, and sent him a text.

"Brent, I've decided on my gift. The wishlist is at the house. Swing by and pick it up before you leave."

Within a minute, my phone rang. I answered, and Brent's frantic voice came through.

"Aren't you even going to ask how Evelyn and Eva are doing?"

"You'll take good care of them," I said.

He was silent for a long time, struggling to keep his temper in check. "Take a photo of the list and text it to me. I have to look after them for a few days, so I won't be coming back to the house."

"Then come get it when you're finished."

"Why can't you just send a photo?"

I didn't answer. I hung up the phone.

A second later, his text arrived: "Are you really still trying to make things difficult for me?"

"You can buy an entire castle in Scotland," I replied. "But swinging by the house to pick up a list is too much of a chore?"

He didn't reply for a long time. Finally, a single text came through: "I'm sorry."

I swiped the notification away, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door.

I was born and raised upstate in Vermont. I had moved to this bustling southern city only for him. Now, it was finally time to go home.

During my first few days back in Vermont, Brent began texting me constantly.

He told me what he ate, what he did, and how Evelyn's condition had stabilized. He wrote that Eva's burns were healing well, that they had postponed the trip to Scotland, and that he would buy me a real gift on his next trip.

I didn't reply to any of them, nor did I answer his calls.

Then, a week later, he sent another message.

"I'm home today. I bought your favorite cheesecake from the bakery. I really want to see what's on your wishlist. Are you asking for the stars?"

He was trying to joke, but I knew he wouldn't be laughing for long.