Forgotten Wife My Ex-Husband Regrets It After I Left (Clara and Liam) novel Chapter 317

Sienna’s POV

There was something in Liam’s voice earlier that felt different. Not something obvious, not like he was lying, but a small pause, as if he were holding something back.

His tone had been softer, more careful. Usually, when he was out of town for work, Liam would talk lightly, even tease a little to keep me from worrying. But just now he hadn’t.

I stared at the phone screen I had just turned off, still holding it longer than I should have. There was a strange sehsation prickling at the back of my mind, an unfamiliar feeling I didn’t want to acknowledge. Maybe it was because I’d seen Emily try to wedge herself into our lives too many times lately, so even a small change in Liam’s voice sent my thoughts racing.

But I shook my head quickly.

No. I couldn’t do that. I had promised Liam and myself to trust him. If I started suspecting him without reason, I’d be destroying the sense of safety we’d fought so hard to build.

I exhaled, pressing the phone to my chest.

“Maybe he’s just tired,” I murmured to myself. “Long travel, meetings, all that work.”

I sat for a while on the edge of the sofa, letting the quietof the house wrap around me. The wall clock ticked softly, its rhythm steady, almost soothing. But my mind didn’t futly follow that calm. There was a small shadow that kept shifting at the edge of my awareness, like fine dust you can’t see but can feet irritating your lungs when you breathe it in.

I closed my eyes, replaying Liam’s tone in my head. The way he inhaled before answering. The way he ended the call a little faster than usual. All of it could be explained by simple things like fatigue, bad signals, or just wanting to rest. There wasn’t a single solid piece of evidence that something was wrong. And I knew too well how easily my mind could create its own scenarios if I let it.

I stood and walked slowly toward the living room window.

Outside, the lights in the neighboring houses were turning on one by one. The night moved along as usual; the world didn’t fall apart just because one phone call felt strange. I rested my forehead against the cold glass, trying to steady the thudding in my chest.

“Noah is fine. I’m fine,” I whispered, as if reminding myself that thère was no emergency to fear.

I glanced down the hallway toward Noah’s room. The door was tightly closed, a small night-light casting a dim glow through the gap beneath it. He must have already fallen asleep, hugging his dinosaur plush like always. That simple image gave me a sense of stability, like an anchor keeping my thoughts from drifting too far.I sat back down, this time reaching for the notebook on the side table by the sofa. I opened to a blank page, intending to jot down the small ideas that had been circling in my head. But the tip of the pen only touched the paper without moving. The words wouldn’t come. My focus scattered, split between the intention to work and the lingering feeling that hadn’t fully faded.

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