Chasing My Divorced Ex Wife

Anastasia

The distant murmur of the domestic staff made me wonder if I had been naïve, sitting alone on the balcony of the grand estate that belonged to my husband. It was my birthday, another one spent in solitude, waiting for him. It had always been like this-waiting for his attention, waiting for him to share a meal with me.

"Mrs. Winfrey," Naomi's voice interrupted my thoughts, drawing me back to the present.

"Yes, Naomi?" I turned, raising an eyebrow at her interruption.

"Um..." she hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her apron, uncharacteristically unsure of herself. "Well..."

"Naomi, you're never this hesitant. What is it?"

Naomi was the most outspoken of all the staff and the one closest to me. Her hesitation only made me more curious.

"Well, Mrs. Winfrey," she began, avoiding my gaze, "do you really think waiting for Mr. Winfrey is necessary? You always wait for him on days like this, and he ne-"

"He will come," I cut her off, turning my eyes away from her. "Naomi, you know better than to bring the staff's gossip to me."

"It's past dinner time, and the house feels like we're mourning... The others are worried," she said, her tone dry but her concern evident.

I sighed, finally meeting her gaze. Naomi, in her early thirties, was someone I sometimes envied. She was married to one of the kindest men I knew. They both worked for us, and yet they were content, happy even.

"Have the chefs dispose of the dishes," I instructed, my voice firm. "But leave the ones I made for Quinn. Birthdays are better celebrated at night."

She gave me a look, one that silently reminded me of the truth I had been denying for so long-that Quinn didn't care for me the way a husband should.

"My husband doesn't love me," I knew it. Everyone knew it.

"Mr. Charter is here... He's the reason for the murmur," Naomi explained, trying to steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic.

"Fleur?" I asked, lifting my head. "Alone?"

"Yes," she confirmed before turning to leave. "He's alone."

I sighed deeply, rising from my chair to go meet Quinn's personal assistant. Fleur worked closely with my husband, so his presence here had to be related to Quinn.

As I walked down the hallway towards the living room, I noticed that Naomi had already dismissed the other staff. I opened the door to find Fleur standing there, holding a basket of flowers against his chest.

"Mrs. Anastasia" he greeted, bowing slightly. A smile tugged at my lips when I saw the flowers.

"Happy birthday."

"Oh my goodness! My husband sent these?" I asked, unable to contain my excitement as I moved closer to accept the basket. Flowers were my secret love, something only Naomi knew.

"No," he said, his confusion evident. "Mr. Winfrey didn't send me here."

"Oh..." I said, the smile faltering as I accepted the gift.

"You're a beneficiary of the company, so it's customary to wish you well," he explained, his smile broadening.

"Well, that's... thoughtful," I said, glancing at the wall clock. It was past ten.

"And your boss?" I asked, trying to mask my curiosity. "I haven't seen him yet."

"He'll be running late, Mrs. Anastasia."

I frowned. Fleur had always called me by my first name, but today it felt particularly grating.

"I advise you not to wait for him," he added, bowing again before heading towards the door.

"Wait," I called out. "Why don't you stay for dinner?"

That wasn't what I wanted to say. I wanted to ask him why I shouldn't wait for Quinn, where my husband was, and what was going on.

"Thank you, Mrs. Anastasia, but-"

"Mrs. Winfrey," I corrected, a bit of irritation seeping into my voice. "Isn't it logical to address me by my husband's last name? We are married, legally."

He smiled, bowing once more. "Very well then. Goodnight, Ma'am."

He left, closing the door behind him. I stood there, feeling the weight of the silence around me.

"You lashing out at him wasn't necessary," Naomi said from behind me, making me jump. She reached out to me but quickly pulled back. "The fact that Mr. Winfrey's company acknowledged your birthday means he cares."

"I never said he didn't care, Naomi. Just... don't say anything more tonight."

"Sure, Ma'am," she replied quietly. "But the food... it's getting cold."

"I know, Naomi. Leave it. He'll be here soon."

"It's almost midnight, Mrs. Winfrey," she said, her worry palpable. "You haven't eaten anything, and..."

"I will when he returns. I promise," I said, sitting at the table, staring at the untouched dishes. My birthday cake sat there, the candles unlit, the night slipping away. "Go to bed, and say hello to Caleb for me. I'm sorry for keeping you so late."

"You're not dismissing me, are you?" she asked, stubborn as always.

"I am. Please, don't argue with me tonight. I'm too tired."

"That's because you haven't eaten anything," she added, making me sigh in frustration.

"Just... go. Please," I pleaded, resting my head against the back of the chair and closing my eyes. "Goodnight."

"Alright," she relented. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

The silence that followed Naomi's departure was almost suffocating. My mind drifted back to the day I married Quinn, believing it was my happiness ever after. But reality had been harsh. The luxury he provided was undeniable, but it came at the cost of my happiness.

I glanced again at the wall clock, and tears filled my eyes. It was midnight, and Quinn still wasn't home.

He was a busy man, involved in many things, from being an entrepreneur to managing his businesses. I understood that. But asking for a little time together wasn't too much, was it?

Besides it was my birthday, my fucking birthday.

Feeling a tightness in the back of my neck, I stood up. It was clear now; Quinn wasn't coming home tonight. Perhaps I had been selfish to expect otherwise. We never really celebrated his birthday either.

As I climbed the stairs, memories of our early days together flooded my mind. The only good times were when we were dating-if a few random visits could even be called dates.