Chapter 4 The Sound of an Empty House

​Julian threw the door to the penthouse open so hard the handle dented the pristine drywall.

​"Lia!"

​His voice boomed through the foyer, thick with a cocktail of rage and disbelief. He expected her to come running. He expected her to be standing there, perhaps crying, perhaps trembling, ready to explain that this "divorce" was just a sick joke or a desperate plea for attention.

​But the silence that greeted him was deafening.

​He marched into the living room, his chest heaving. "Lia, I know you're here! If this is about Elizabeth, we can talk, but filing legal documents behind my back is"

​He stopped mid-sentence.

​His eyes landed on the wall where the wedding portrait had hung for three years. The hook was empty. The wall looked naked, a mocking white rectangle staring back at him. On the floor lay a pile of shattered glass and the heavy gold frame, but the photo itself was gone.

​A cold, hollow feeling began to settle in Julian's gut a feeling he hadn't experienced since he was a child. He turned and ran toward her bedroom.

​He ripped the closet doors open.

​Empty.

​The hangers rattled against each other, sounding like dry bones. The scent of her something soft, like vanilla and rain was already beginning to fade, replaced by the sterile, lemon-scented air of the apartment's ventilation system. He moved to the dresser, pulling drawers out so quickly they fell to the floor.

​Nothing. Not a hair tie. Not a stray earring.

​She hadn't just moved out; she had erased herself.

​Julian sat heavily on the edge of the bed the bed she had slept in alone for hundreds of nights while he worked late or "comforted" Elizabeth. He looked down and saw a small piece of paper on the floor.

​He picked it up. It was the cutout of his own face from the wedding portrait. She had kept her face and left his behind.

​"She really did it," he whispered, the reality finally crashing down. "She tricked me."

​He was the top divorce lawyer in the country. He had dismantled fortunes and broken families with a flick of his wrist. And yet, his quiet, "sensible" wife had served him his own heart on a silver platter, and he had thanked her for it.

​His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, hoping praying it was her.

​It was Elizabeth.

​Jules, where are you? The caterers for the 'Freedom Gala' are asking about the wine list. I need your opinion. Come over?

​Julian stared at the screen. For the first time in ten years, the sight of Elizabeth's name didn't bring a smile to his face. It brought a flash of irritation.

​"Not now, Elizabeth," he muttered, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

​He walked into the kitchen, his throat dry. He needed a drink. He opened the fridge and saw the rows of spicy condiments, the expensive steaks, the olives. Everything he liked.

​Then he saw it. A small, half-empty carton of milk with a sticky note attached to it.

​This was the only thing in this house I could actually eat without pain. You can keep the rest. - Lia.

​Julian froze. Pain? He remembered the times he'd seen her clutching her stomach after dinner. He remembered the times she had asked if they could have something "plain," and he had laughed, telling her she needed to broaden her horizons. He had thought she was being picky.

​He realized now she had been suffering in silence, literally poisoning herself just to sit across the table from him.

​Suddenly, the penthouse felt too large. The marble felt too cold.

​"I'll find her," Julian said to the empty room, his jaw tightening. "She's a Leighton. She has nowhere to go. She'll be at her sister's or a hotel. By tomorrow morning, I'll have Lewis withdraw the filing, and I'll bring her back."

​He convinced himself it was just a tantrum. A very sophisticated, legal tantrum.

​One Hour Later: A Small Café across town.

​I sat in the corner of a dimly lit café, a bowl of warm, plain oatmeal in front of me. It was simple. It was bland. And it was the most delicious thing I had tasted in years.

​Stella sat across from me, her eyes wide as she scrolled through her phone.

​"Lia, you are a legend," she whispered. "The legal forums are already whispering. 'Top Divorce Lawyer served by mystery wife.' They don't know it's you yet, but they know someone got the better of Julian Cohen."

​"I don't care about the forums, Stella," I said, taking a slow, peaceful bite. "I just want to be able to wake up without a knot in my stomach."

​"So, what's the next move? He's going to come looking. You know Julian he hates losing more than he loves winning."

​I looked out the window. A black sedan had just pulled up across the street. For a second, my heart stopped, thinking it was his. But a stranger stepped out.

​"Let him look," I said, my voice cold and clear. "He spent three years looking right through me. Now, he can spend the rest of his life looking for a woman who doesn't exist anymore."

​I pulled out a new SIM card and swapped it into my phone. I deleted my social media. I deleted his number.

​"Tomorrow," I told Stella, "I start the new job. And in thirty days, the 'Placeholder Wife' officially dies."

The next morning, Julian arrives at Lia's sister's house, confident he will find her there. But instead of Lia, he is met by a process server who hands him a second set of papers. It's an injunction Lia has filed a restraining order, citing "emotional distress