When the Wind Settles

Returning from my mothers follow-up appointment, I found her belongings piled in the hallway. Dominic held a blueprint, directing housekeepers to repaint her room pastel pink for Beccas livestreams. Spotting us, he barely glanced up. Your mother seems fine. She should head home.

I stood frozen. A month ago, shed undergone grueling open-heart surgery, and recent postoperative infections required absolute rest. Besides, Id co-funded this townhouse, and wed agreed to reserve a bedroom for our parents.

Before I could speak, my mother picked up her cracked guardian angel charm from the floor. "Weve overstayed, Fiona. Ill buy a ticket home."

"Mom, remember what the doctor said?"

She glanced at Dominics expressionless face. "I feel better, really..."

"What time is your train? Ill have the driver take you," Dominic cut in smoothly, his voice ice-cold.

My mother paled, swaying slightly. "Ill check now."

Watching her luggage and Dominics indifferent profile, I made my decision. I was divorcing him.

My mother had already pulled out her old smartphone, trying to open the ticketing app. But the phone was too old and kept freezing. Sweat began to bead on her forehead from anxiety, and she cast a helpless, apologetic look toward me.

I helped her sit down on the living room sofa, keeping my voice gentle. "You rest first."

Then, I knelt on the floor and began gathering her things one by one.

Our family portrait lay shattered on the floor. My father had passed away when I was very young, and that was the only photo we had of the three of us together. She carried it with her wherever she went.

As I picked up the frame, a shard of glass sliced into my finger, and I let out a sharp gasp.

Dominic turned around, his eyes falling on my bleeding finger. His brow furrowed slightly. "Why are you always so careless?"

For a moment, my mind drifted to the past.

"Fiona, how could you be so careless? Does it hurt? Let me see."

The same words, but the voice in my memory was clear, bright, and filled with genuine worry. When Dominic was twenty, even a tiny scratch on my skin would make him panic and blame himself for days.

"It is just a photograph. Is it really worth hurting yourself over?"

His voice dragged me back to the harsh reality. At twenty-eight, Dominic only saw my pain as a dramatic overreaction.

"Go get the first-aid kit and bandage it up," he said, already turning his attention back to the design blueprint. It was as if nothing in the world could be more important than that piece of paper.

My mother brought over the first-aid kit, her eyes red as she gently wrapped my finger.

The front door chimed as the passcode was entered. Becca stepped inside and immediately let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh my, why is it such a mess in here? Dominic, haven't they cleared out this trash yet?"

Dominic's expression changed instantly. "Stay back! There is broken glass on the floor," he warned, his voice rising in concern.

He walked around the pile of my mother's belongings with an expression of deep disgust, stepping directly to Becca's side. He swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the guest bedroom.

"Go see if there is anything else you want to change in your room."

"I want to put a few of my limited-edition anime figures on this shelf."

"Alright, I will have someone buy them for you."

"They have to be the rare ones, okay?"

"You can have whatever you want."

"Dominic, why are you always so good to me?"

"Because you deserve it."

Their conversation wasn't loud, but every word drifted clearly into my ears. I thought I had grown numb to the pain, but the tightness in my chest betrayed me.

My mother gently touched my face, fighting back her tears. "Fiona, don't be sad. Don't be sad, sweetheart. Mom is here..."

I rested my head against her shoulder and bit my lip, letting my tears fall silently.

"Fiona, clear these things out quickly. Becca needs to start her stream tonight," Dominic said, walking back into the living room.

When he saw my tear-streaked face, he froze, a flash of confusion crossing his eyes. Before he could say anything, Becca peeked out from behind him.

"Oh, Fiona, why are you and your mom crying like this?" She blinked, suddenly covering her mouth in mock horror. "Don't tell me your mother's illness has taken a turn for the worse? Did the doctor say there is no hope left?"

The lingering thread of my composure snapped. I stood up and screamed at her, "Don't you dare curse my mother!"

Becca shrank back into Dominic's chest, sobbing softly. "I was only trying to show some concern..."

Dominic wrapped an arm around her, his gaze turning icy as he glared at me. "What are you throwing a tantrum for now? Do you have to target Becca every chance you get?"

I stared at the handsome man before me, but I could no longer remember what he looked like when he loved me.

My mother gently pulled at my arm, shaking her head. "Dominic, please don't blame Fiona. She is just worried about me. I am perfectly fine, really. I will pack up and leave right now."

I could barely stand. She was always like this, bowing her head and apologizing to Dominic, terrified that her presence would cause a rift between us. She was so afraid that after she passed away, I would have no one left to look after me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my tears back. "Mom, we're leaving."

I packed her things into a suitcase and booked a ride to the small suburban apartment I had bought before my marriage. It was far away from the hospital where she received her treatments, but it was quiet.

"The bed is a bit small, but we can manage if we squeeze together," I said as we unpacked.

Hearing this, my mother tried to push me toward the door. "Don't fight with Dominic. You need to go back. If you stay here, you won't even know if something happens between him and that girl..."

"Mom! I want to stay here and take care of you. Nothing else matters."

Whether anything happened between Dominic and Becca would not change based on my presence. But my mother didn't understand. Her beliefs were still rooted in the traditional idea that a woman had to hold onto her husband's heart at all costs.

"I can't be a burden to you, Fiona. Go back and talk to him. Don't argue..."

"I am going to divorce Dominic."

Her hands froze, and a storm of emotions crossed her face. During those long seconds of silence, I prepared myself for a lecture. But the expected scolding never came.

"Is it really because you don't want to live with him anymore, or is it because of me?" she asked softly.

My tears spilled over. "Mom, I don't want to be with him anymore. I am not happy. I am miserable."

I used the simplest words to make her understand my resolve.

"If you leave him, will you be happy?"

I couldn't speak, but I nodded through my tears.

"Okay," she said, her voice trembling. "Mom supports you."

I stared at her for a moment before throwing myself into her arms and crying my heart out.

After settling my mother in the apartment, I returned to our townhouse.

Dominic and Becca were curled up on the sofa, watching a movie.

"I told you he liked her! You see?"

"Yes, yes, you are always the smartest."

"Of course I am. I saw it coming a mile away."

We used to do things like this too. We could debate a single line of dialogue or a minor character's motive for hours. But after Becca returned from abroad, Dominic's patience with me had evaporated.

"I am busy every day, Fiona. I don't have time to watch this kind of brainless trash with you."

Yet, he had plenty of time to accompany Becca to trendy dessert shops, watch late-night movies, and even walk away from multi-million-dollar business contracts just to take her on a vacation.

When I confronted him about it, his response was always dismissive. "Becca just got back to the country, and her parents asked me to look after her. Fiona, you simply don't understand the kind of lifelong bond our families share."

That single phrase, our families, exposed the deep social divide between us. Even after all these years, and even though everyone knew me as Mrs. Dominic, that gap had never truly closed. It had only been temporarily ignored. Becca's return had simply stripped away the illusion.

Their laughter cut short the moment they noticed me standing in the doorway.

"Oh, Fiona, you are back!" Becca said, running over to wrap her arms around my elbow. "I am so hungry. Can you make that garlic crawfish boil I love tonight?"

I took a step back, pulling my arm out of her grasp, and walked past her toward the bedroom.

"Becca only asked for some seafood. Did that offend you too?" Dominic's sarcastic voice followed me from the doorway.

I opened my suitcase and replied without looking at him, "I am allergic to seafood."

He went quiet for a moment, a trace of embarrassment in his voice. "Right. I forgot."

I kept my back to him, a bitter smile gracing my lips. He didn't forget. He just didn't care anymore.

When he used to care, he remembered my allergy better than I did. If there was ever seafood on a dinner table, he would make sure it was placed as far away from me as possible. When his friends teased him about being overly dramatic, saying a seafood allergy couldn't spread through the air, he would simply shrug. "Anything that makes my Fiona uncomfortable shouldn't even be in her line of sight."

I closed my eyes, forcing that memory of Dominic out of my head. That man was long gone.

"Why are you packing a bag?" Dominic asked, stepping into the room.

"I am moving to my apartment for a while to take care of my mother."

He let out a dry laugh. "That tiny place of yours is barely big enough for one person. Stop playing games. Your mother is fine now, she should just head back to her hometown."

I stopped folding my clothes and turned to look at him, my expression cold. "I never said my mother was fine."

My mother's heart required a delicate valve repair. If Dominic had made a single phone call to the hospital his company invested in, she could have received a minimally invasive procedure, saving her from immense pain.

But Dominic had refused. His excuse was that he had no authority to bypass protocol, and that he needed to avoid any appearance of conflict of interest.

I had believed him. I was so afraid of damaging his professional reputation that I didn't push. Instead, my mother had to undergo a traditional open-heart surgery, which involved cutting through her breastbone.

The surgery had aged her by ten years. She was forced to take blood thinners for the rest of her life, undergo frequent blood tests, and face constant check-ups to monitor for recurrence. I had to resign from my job just to manage her recovery.

A week after her surgery, she began running a high fever. The diagnosis was infective endocarditis, the most dangerous complication of heart surgery, with an incredibly high mortality rate. The doctor warned us that she needed absolute rest, and any stress or exhaustion could be fatal.

Dominic knew all of this, but he had never truly cared.

Yet, two weeks ago, when Becca's distant relative was hospitalized, and her mother asked her to visit, Dominic had personally phoned the hospital director after Becca casually mentioned it. He had arranged the best specialists and a private VIP suite.

When Becca had teased him about making such a fuss over a distant relative, he had simply smiled. "It was just a quick phone call, and it gives you status in front of your family. Why wouldn't I do it?"

That was when I finally understood. Love is measured by how much you are willing to prioritize someone. When placed on a scale, the unloved partner must always prepare to be cast aside.

Dominic stared at me for a long time before letting out a soft sigh. "I know you are upset with me because of Becca taking the room, but your mother staying here permanently isn't a long-term solution either. Becca wanted to start her social media career, and I was just trying to help her out..."

I let out a cold laugh. "So, it is inappropriate for my recovering mother to stay here, but perfectly fine for Becca to move in?"

He pressed his lips together, falling back on his usual defense. "Her parents asked me to take care of her. In our circle, we always look out for each other..."

"Do her parents know their daughter has moved into a married man's house? Or is this just how high society teaches manners these days?" I raised my voice, the anger finally breaking through.

Dominic had never seen me like this, and he stood frozen in shock.

"Fiona... how can you humiliate me and my parents like this?" Becca cried, covering her face as she ran out of the room.

"Becca!" Dominic called out, immediately chasing after her. At the door, he stopped and looked back at me, his eyes filled with disappointment and anger. "Fiona, Becca is sensitive. If she hurts herself because of your cruel words, I will not let this go."

I laughed until tears came to my eyes.

Dominic, you don't need to let anything go. I have already let go of you.

When I returned to the apartment, my mother was waiting for me with a home-cooked meal. The tiny space was warm, filled with a simple, peaceful comfort I hadn't felt in years.

Later that evening, Dominic called me. I answered, but there was only loud background noise on the other end.

"Dominic, how are you looking after Becca? Her eyes are completely swollen."

"Don't say that, it wasn't Dominic's fault."

"Then who was it? Did Fiona cause trouble again?"

"I will handle it. I won't let Becca suffer any more of this."

"If you ask me, you should just get a divorce. She was never from our world anyway. First she brings her sick mother into your home, and next thing you know, she will be putting her dead father's ashes on your nightstand."

"That is enough. Fiona is my wife, and that is not going to change."

The call disconnected. I realized my heart had gone completely numb.

Then my phone buzzed again, this time from an unfamiliar number.

"Fiona, I have reviewed your mother's medical records. I am back in the country now, and I can perform her follow-up surgery. But you will need to bring her to Fairview."

The voice on the phone was like a ray of light cutting through the darkness that had hung over me for weeks. It was Wesley, my college senior.

I immediately booked the earliest flight to Fairview.

Over the next few days, my mind was occupied entirely by my mother's upcoming surgery. It was only when Dominic tried to call me again that I remembered we still had unfinished business.

"How long are you going to keep acting like this?" his voice carried his usual irritation, but there was a faint trace of tenderness underneath, as if to remind me that he still cared.

"Fiona, come back home. I have already forgiven you, and I miss your cooking," Becca's voice chimed in.

"Becca isn't holding a grudge anymore, Fiona. Stop dragging this out and make your way back," Dominic added.

"Yes, Fiona, come back and cook. Dominic has been taking me out to eat every night, and I am getting tired of it."

I looked out the window at the bright moon hanging in the night sky, a faint smile touching my lips. "Are you finished?"

The two of them went quiet.

"Dominic, my lawyer will be sending you the divorce papers. After this, we are finished."

A burst of laughter came from the receiver. "Oh, Fiona, did you learn that move online? Everyone in our circle tries that trick. It won't work on someone as smart as Dominic."

Dominic's voice turned angry. "Fiona, I thought you would use this time to reflect on your behavior. Is this the best you can come up with? Do you think divorce is a joke?"

I had no desire to argue further, so I hung up.

A moment later, a text from him arrived: If you want to throw a fit, go ahead. Becca and I are heading to the Hamptons for a few days, so I won't be around to watch your drama anyway.

A minute later, another message came through: I will bring you back some pink pearls from the coast. We can have them made into a necklace to make up for our anniversary gift.

I blocked his number.

The next day, my mother and I landed at the Fairview airport. From a distance, I could see Wesley waiting at the arrival gate.

"Fiona! Over here!" He waved.

"Wesley!"

"Hello, Mrs. Harrison. I am Wesley, Fiona's college senior. How are you feeling after the flight?"

My mother smiled warmly. "Thank you, Wesley. I appreciate all your help. I am feeling quite well."

Wesley smiled back. "Please don't be so formal. Just call me Wesley."

After we arrived at the apartment Wesley had arranged for us, my mother and I began unpacking our bags.

From the living room, Wesley called out, "Fiona, your phone is ringing. It is an unsaved number."

"Could you answer it for me, Wesley?" I called back.

"Sure."

Wesley pressed the answer button, his voice smooth and polite. "Hello, who is this?"