Chapter 5: The Papers She Left Behind

Dominic POV

I drove Ava to a private hospital owned by one of the Families.

The doctor didn’t bother lowering his voice.

“She’s three months pregnant,” he said coldly.

“No sexual activity. Not tonight, not next time. Just because nothing happened this time doesn’t mean you’ll be lucky again.”

He looked at both of us, unimpressed.

“Bed rest. Two days of observation. If everything’s stable, then she can leave.”

I stood there, jaw tight, guilt clawing its way up my chest.

When the doctor left, I turned toward Ava.

She was staring at me with red-rimmed eyes, waiting for comfort.

I felt nothing.

Not the tenderness I used to feel for Arabella.

Not even anger.

Only exhaustion.

“You need to stay here,” I said.

Ava reached for my sleeve.

“Dominic…”

I pulled my arm away.

“Don’t.”

Her expression changed.

“Are you blaming me?”

I looked at her for a long moment.

“I’m blaming myself.”

Because no matter how I tried to rewrite the past, the truth remained.

I had betrayed the woman who trusted me most.

And now she was gone.

I pulled out my phone and called Arabella.

The number rang once.

Twice.

Then the call ended.

I called again.

Nothing.

A cold feeling settled in my chest.

Arabella never ignored me.

Not like this.

I opened our shared location app.

Her phone was offline.

“Where are you?” I whispered.

I rushed out of the hospital and drove home.

The house was strangely quiet.

I called her name as I walked through every room.

“Arabella?”

No answer.

Her clothes were missing from the closet.

Her favorite books were gone from the bedside table.

The small porcelain cup she always used for morning tea was nowhere to be found.

My heartbeat began pounding.

Then I saw it.

On the desk in our bedroom was a folder.

My hands went cold before I even touched it.

I opened it.

Immigration documents.

A permanent residency application.

A departure authorization.

And beneath them, a signed statement confirming that Arabella had already begun the process of leaving the country.

My vision blurred.

“No…”

I flipped through the pages desperately.

She had planned this.

She hadn't decided tonight.

She had been preparing to disappear long before I realized she was slipping away.

My fingers trembled as I searched for a date.

Approved.

Departure scheduled.

My breath caught.

She had already left.

I stumbled backward and gripped the edge of the desk.

For the first time in my life, the walls of my own house felt unfamiliar.

Then I noticed something else inside the folder.

Behind the signed papers, there were several loose sheets.

Blank at first glance.

I pulled them out, already irritated, ready to throw them away—

Then the handwriting stopped me.

Arabella’s.

Clean. Precise. Calm.

Just like her.

She had always been like that—no matter how bad things got, she never raised her voice. Never lost control.

Yet these pages were different.

The paper was punctured in several places, as if the pen had been pressed down too hard.

I read the first line.

“I used to believe that being loved meant being chosen every day.”

My chest tightened.

The next line was worse.

“Now I understand that a woman can be loved in words and abandoned in every action.”

I stopped breathing.

Page after page described things I had done.

The nights I left her alone.

The excuses I gave.

The lies I told.

The times Ava had needed me—and I had chosen to answer.

Arabella had noticed everything.

She had simply been waiting.

At the bottom of the final page, there was only one sentence.

“I am not leaving because I stopped loving you. I am leaving because I finally started loving myself.”

The paper slipped from my hand.

I sank into the chair.

For three years, I had believed Arabella would always be there.

I had treated her presence like something permanent.

Something guaranteed.

Something I could hurt and still find waiting for me at home.

Now the house was silent.

Her suitcase was gone.

Her phone was unreachable.

And for the first time, I understood the meaning of the nightmare I had been having.

She hadn't been threatening to leave.

She had already left.

I grabbed my phone again and called every contact I had at the airport.

“Find her.”

My voice shook.

“Check every private terminal. Every border record. Every flight.”

A pause followed.

Then one of my men spoke carefully.

“Don… there’s a problem.”

“What?”

“If Mrs. Conti completed the immigration process before departure, our usual channels may not be able to locate her.”

My grip tightened around the phone.

“I don’t care what channels you have to use.”

I stood up.

“Find my wife.”

Because I had finally understood something too late.

Arabella hadn't disappeared from my life by accident.

She had erased herself on purpose.

And this time, I was the man left behind.