Hey, why isn't Chloe home yet? Sir, she's completely off the grid. My husband dumped me at the airport and drove off alone.

A week later, he casually asked his assistant why his wife wasn't home yet, only for the panicked assistant to tell him I was completely off the grid. He collapsed onto the floor in shock. Throughout our three years of marriage, everyone called me a nobody who got lucky by marrying up. My husband, Ethan, was a rising tycoon in the business world, while I, Chloe, was just an ordinary interior designer trying desperately to hold our marriage together.

That was until one torrential night at the airport when a single phone call from his first love made him abandon me and my suitcase right at departures, driving away without so much as a backward glance. The freezing rain soaked through my clothes and finally snapped me out of 3 years of delusion. During that week, I wiped away my tears and made a decision no one could have anticipated.

A week later, when Ethan finally found time away from his hectic work schedule and his ex's needs, he rasped out a question to our housekeeper, Aunt Mary, "Mary, why isn't my wife back yet?" What he got in response was Aunt Mary's panicked reply, "Sir, Mrs. Vance's phone has been completely disconnected ever since that night." In that exact moment, Ethan finally realized that the woman who had always been waiting quietly in place for him was gone.

The day I was abandoned at the airport was the eve of our third wedding anniversary. Half a month prior, I had already booked everything. I had booked flights and a resort stay in the South of France as a surprise for him. He had been so overwhelmed with work over the past 6 months that he often slept at the office, and whenever he did come home, he would collapse straight into bed.

I thought perhaps a getaway just for the two of us could rekindle the warmth we shared when we first got married. Sitting in the VIP lounge at the airport, full of anticipation, I sent him one last text. Ethan, I'm at the airport waiting for you near gate B12. Our flight is tonight.

Don't be late. I attached a photo of my boarding pass. The message vanished into a vacuum. 2 hours before takeoff, he still hadn't shown up.

I called him, but no one answered. Anxious, I still made excuses for him in my mind. His meeting must have run over or traffic was backed up. An hour before takeoff, I couldn't sit still any longer.

I dragged my suitcase out to the departures curb and looked around frantically. Right then, his black Maybach finally appeared in the traffic. A wave of relief washed over me and I waved frantically. The car pulled up right in front of me.

The passenger side window rolled down revealing Ethan's sharp profile. He wore a crisp black button-down shirt with a silk tie. His face wore that familiar distant expression mixed with a faint, subtle irritability. "Ethan," I said, opening the door to put my luggage in.

"Wait," he said coldly. His eyes weren't even on me. They were glued to his phone screen resting on the center console which was ringing urgently. He glanced at the caller ID and the name on the screen instantly changed his gaze.

It softened with an urgent tenderness I rarely ever saw. Lily. Lily Lawson, his first love who had gone abroad to pursue her dancing career. The woman he had once pined for all these years.

He picked up immediately, his voice impossibly gentle. "Lily, what's wrong? Take your time. Don't cry."

Faint stifled sobs drifted from the receiver followed by broken sentences. I caught snippets like sprained it, it hurts so much and I'm so scared all by myself. Ethan's brows furrowed deeply, his tone growing even softer. "Don't be scared.

I'm coming right now. Send me your location. Stay right where you are and wait for me." The call ended and he finally turned to look at me or rather at my hand holding the car door.

The brief softness in his eyes instantly froze over returning to his usual business-like detachment if not colder. "Chloe, call an Uber back home, or reschedule or cancel the trip. Up to you," he commanded briskly with unquestionable authority. I stood there frozen, my fingertips going numb.

"What? Ethan, our flight—" Lily was rehearsing at the art studio on the outskirts. She flared up an old ankle injury and there's no one with her. He cut me off impatiently as if my questions were nothing more than childish badgering.

"I have to get over there right now." "But today is our—" The words caught in my throat. "Anniversaries happen every year," he snapped checking his watch with obvious impatience.

"Lily's situation is an emergency. You've always been reasonable. Handle it yourself." Reasonable.

Those words were like two needles plunging straight into the tenderest spot of my heart. In our three years of marriage, the lesson I had mastered best was being reasonable. Reasonable enough never to bother his work. Reasonable enough to handle all the housework.

Reasonable enough to slip away whenever he needed peace and quiet. And reasonable enough never to ask questions about Lily. Yet all my being reasonable had brought me was being dumped at an airport on the eve of my wedding anniversary. Abandoned by my husband in the face of an impending storm.