12 The Missing Ring, Silent Tensions
Eleanor Thorne surveyed the dining table with a critical eye. Despite her best efforts, the atmosphere remained heavy with unspoken tension. She frowned as Elara quietly pushed food around her plate, barely eating.
“Elara, dear, you’ve hardly touched your salmon. Is something wrong with it?” Eleanor
asked.
Elara looked up, her expression carefully composed. “It’s delicious, Eleanor. I’m just not very hungry tonight.”
“You need to eat more,” Eleanor insisted. “You’re getting too thin.”
Damien, seated at the opposite end of the table, didn’t even glance up from his phone. His fingers moved rapidly across the screen, completely disconnected from the dinner
conversation.
Eleanor cleared her throat pointedly. “Damien, no phones at the dinner table. That’s been the rule since you were a boy.”
Damien looked up reluctantly. “Sorry, Grandma. Business emergency.” He set the phone down beside his plate but kept stealing glances at it.
Eleanor noticed Elara’s left hand as she reached for her water glass. Something was
missing.
“Elara, where’s your wedding ring?” Eleanor asked, her voice sharper than intended.
The table fell silent. Cora looked up from her plate, curious eyes darting between the
adults.
Elara’s hand froze mid–air. She recovered quickly, lowering her hand to her lap.
“I forgot to put it back on after my shower,” she replied smoothly. “It’s on my dresser at
home.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You never take that ring off. I remember you telling me that years ago.”
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Elara’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t want to damage it while using the new exfoliating scrub Chloe recommended.”
Damien glanced at Elara’s hand, his expression unreadable. He said nothing and
returned to his meal.
“Well, make sure you put it on when you get home,” Eleanor said firmly. “A wedding ring is a symbol of commitment. It should never leave your finger.”
“Of course,” Elara murmured.
The conversation shifted to safer topics–Cora’s school projects, Eleanor’s charity work, the upcoming holiday season. Throughout it all, Elara spoke only when directly addressed. Damien remained equally silent, answering in clipped sentences when
necessary.
When dessert arrived, Eleanor made her move. “Damien, come sit by your wife. I hardly ever see you two together these days.”
Damien hesitated, but Eleanor’s stern look left no room for argument. With obvious reluctance, he moved to the empty chair beside Elara.
Though their shoulders nearly touched, the space between them might as well have been an ocean. Neither leaned toward the other, neither sought eye contact. They sat like perfect strangers, maintaining careful inches between their bodies.
“Isn’t this nice?” Eleanor said with forced cheerfulness. “Almost like your wedding day.
Remember how beautiful it was, Elara?”
“It was lovely,” Elara agreed automatically.
“Daddy, can I show Mommy my new doll collection before bedtime?” Cora asked, thankfully changing the subject.
Damien nodded. “Of course, sweetheart.”
After dinner, Elara followed Cora upstairs to her bedroom. The little girl chatted excitedly as she showed off her newest toys, laying them out on her bed one by one.
“And this one’s from Aunt Vivi,” Cora said, holding up an expensive–looking doll with real glass eyes. “She brought it back from Paris last month.”
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Elara smiled despite the familiar pang in her chest. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Aunt Vivi says she’ll take me to Paris someday. Just us girls.” Cora hugged the doll to her chest. “And maybe Daddy too.”
Elara’s smile faltered slightly. “That sounds fun.”
She watched as Cora carefully arranged her dolls, noticing how her daughter kept glancing at the clock.
“Are you waiting for something, sweetie?” Elara asked.
Cora shook her head too quickly. “No.”
“It’s almost your bedtime. Let’s get you ready.”
As Elara helped Cora into her pajamas, she noticed her daughter’s unusual quietness. Cora kept looking at her phone, which lit up several times with incoming messages.
“Who’s texting you so late?” Elara asked casually.
Cora snatched the phone away. “Just friends.”
“It’s a school night. You shouldn’t be texting this late.”
“Dad lets me,” Cora replied defensively.
Elara bit her lip. “Well, when you’re here with me, bedtime means no more phone
time.”
Cora’s face clouded. “That’s not fair! Aunt Vivi says I’m mature enough to set my own
screen time.”
The mention of Vivienne again made Elara’s chest tighten. She took a deep breath. “I’m your mother, Cora. Not Vivienne.”
“Whatever,” Cora muttered. “Can I have some privacy now? I need to change.”
“You just changed into your pajamas,” Elara said, confused.
“I want to put on different ones.” Cora stood with her arms crossed. “Please?”
Sensing a losing battle, Elara nodded. “Alright. Five minutes, then lights out.”
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She stepped into the hallway, waiting outside the door. Through the wood, she heard
the soft tap of phone buttons, then Cora’s whispered voice, though she couldn’t make
out the words.
When Elara tried to re–enter a few minutes later, she found the door locked.
“Cora?” she called, knocking gently. “Open the door, please.”
“Just a minute!” Cora called back, sounding flustered.
After several moments, the lock clicked. When Elara entered, Cora was already in bed, her phone nowhere in sight.
“Where’s your phone?” Elara askea.
“Charging” Cora replied, pointing to her desk where the phone lay face–down.
Elara approached the bed, brushing Cora’s hair from her forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”
Cora accepted her kiss but didn’t return the words, instead turning to face the wall. “Night.”
With a heavy heart, Elara left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
In her own bedroom–the guest room she now used when staying at the manor–Elara sat at the vanity, staring at her reflection. She opened her small jewelry case and took out her wedding ring, turning it over in her fingers. The diamond caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the wall.
For seven years, this ring had been her most treasured possession. Now it felt like a
shackle.
She returned it to the case and closed the lid firmly.
The clock on the nightstand showed 11:30 PM. Damien still hadn’t come upstairs. Elara knew he was avoiding her–avoiding the uncomfortable silence that always hung between them now.
Unable to sleep, she slipped into her robe and headed downstairs for some tea. The manor was quiet, most of the lights dimmed for the night. As she approached the main
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staircase, voices drifted up from the darkened foyer below.
“Are you avoiding going back because Elara is there?” a female voice asked. It wasn’t Eleanor’s–younger, sharper. “You don’t want to face her, do you?”
Elara froze on the landing, her hand gripping the banister. She couldn’t see the speakers, hidden in the shadows of the entranceway below, but she recognized Damien’s silhouette against the frosted glass of the front door.
“It’s complicated,” Damien replied, his voice low.
“It’s not complicated,” the woman countered. “You’re hiding down here because you’re a coward.”
Elara held her breath, waiting for Damien’s response.
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