The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 10

10 Chapter 10 This Day Belongs To You

Zain’s POV 1

Cherry stepped into the upstairs study to discover me rifling through desk drawers.

The sound of footsteps made me look up instinctively. Recognizing Cherry, I questioned, “Where’s Blanche?”

Cherry gestured toward the stairs. “Mrs. Jacob rushed out. Something pressing seemed to have come up.”

I shot upright, rare fury flashing across my features. “She left?” I’d arrived at the study per her request, only to find emptiness. Now she’d

vanished without explanation. My anger was justified.

Sensing my darkening expression, Cherry paused before venturing to ask, “What are you searching for, Mr. Jacob?”

“Some documents should be on this desk,” I replied icily. “Have you spotted them?”

After considering this, Cherry’s expression brightened. “Oh yes! Mrs. Jacob requested I deliver them to you. I stored them in my quarters

to avoid forgetting. Let me retrieve them now.”

I scowled, my voice thick with irritation. “Never handle anything in my study again.”

Cherry mumbled agreement and rushed downstairs. I had barely taken my seat when my phone buzzed. Ophelia was calling. “Haven’t you finished yet? Carry refuses to sleep and keeps demanding you.”

I paused, uncertain what task I was meant to complete. Rather than seeking clarification, I simply stated, “I’ll arrive shortly.”

Downstairs, Cherry rummaged through her room, oblivious that I had already departed. After ransacking every drawer and surface

unsuccessfully, she muttered, “Where did I stash those documents?”

Blanche’s POV

At daybreak, rain started falling, its rhythmic tapping echoing against the car glass. Heated air drifted from the vents. Amara slouched in the passenger seat, her face pressed into shaking hands. I observed quietly, my concerned stare locked on Amara’s trembling frame.

Eventually, Amara spoke, her voice barely audible, “Marquis betrayed me again.” I’d stopped counting how often I’d heard these exact

words.

Amara had devoted years to Marquis Landon since university. Their bond was stagnant, yet it wouldn’t end either, Whatever passion had

existed had long since died, yet Amara still held onto hopes of an engagement.

Still, the pattern remained unchanged. His infidelity was consistently met with her forgiveness, repeatedly. At her age, Amara felt imprisoned in their dynamic. The simple idea of existing without Marquis filled her with dread, trapping her in a cage of her own design.

Quiet filled the vehicle, interrupted only by Amara’s muffled weeping. My throat burned with all the thoughts I couldn’t voice. “You have to break free,” I finally said, my tone steady.

“I can’t, Blanche.” Amara’s voice cracked like brittle glass. “All these years, I’ve surrendered half my heart.” She pushed her palms harder

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10 Chapter 10 This Day Belongs To You

against her puffy eyes, as though she could force the tears to retreat.

I couldn’t bear it any longer. I reached across and pulled Amara’s hands from her face, making her confront reality directly. “You’re

deciding not to,” I said, my voice sharp with exasperation. “If I managed to move forward, you can too.”

Amara shifted and met my eyes. The quiet extended between us until Amara murmured, “Have you truly?”

“I have, I matched her stare with an honest nod, my face showing the calm assurance of someone who had traveled this agonizing

journey before.

Amara recoiled under the force of my conviction. That depth of certainty couldn’t be manufactured.

Her focus wavered first, falling to her own quivering hands. “But I’m unable,” she gasped, tears streaming down her face. “He possesses

half my existence. What remains of me without him?”

I studied Amara for an extended moment before releasing a weary breath. “I’ll quit trying to convince you. You’ll understand when you’ve

crashed into that barrier enough times.”

I understood this pattern intimately. My own family had pleaded with me to avoid that destructive relationship, but I had threatened to

disown them.

That’s how these situations unfolded. Until someone awakened independently, all the wisdom in the world was merely squandered

energy.

Amara sobbed until her eyes stung, then grabbed her phone and repeatedly called Marquis. When he blocked her, she seized my phone

to continue attempting.

After what felt like an eternity, Marquis finally picked up with a growl, “Christ, Amara! When will you quit? Can’t you just give me peace?”

Amara had barely uttered one syllable before he continued irritably, “We’re finished discussing this. I’m going to bed.” The connection

ended with a definitive click.

Amara instantly redialed, but now only reached his voicemail. Tears dropped onto the black screen like precipitation.

I witnessed it all with a stab of familiarity. I recognized my former self in Amara’s desperation, recalling how I too had once grasped at

that same hollow affection. Without speaking, I took Amara’s shaking hand and squeezed it firmly, providing only silent support.

Early in the morning, I was already at the market for tonight’s family gathering. The morning flew by in a whirlwind of preparation-

mincing herbs for the roasted chicken, skinning potatoes, cutting vegetables.

Camila, visiting for the weekend, arranged silverware and creased napkins at the dining table, occasionally snatching a cherry tomato

from the salad preparation bowl.

The house buzzed with morning energy as the others pursued their schedules. Roger and Quinton hurried off to the office after

breakfast, while Amber, employed as a model, left for her spring collection photoshoot. Even Irene had sneaked out early, intent on

securing the first choice of the bakery’s renowned double–layer chocolate cake before it disappeared.

That evening, I assembled a generous feast: herb–crusted chicken with garlic and rosemary, smooth mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli

and carrots, and a garden salad with cherry tomatoes.

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When the family assembled, they marveled at the substantial meal.

Quinton’s gaze unconsciously drifted to me. I stood beside the table with my apron strings pulled snug around my waist, my bare face a

sharp contrast to the spoiled younger sister he recalled. The Jacobs had transformed me, stripping away that refined appearance and

leaving behind a weary ghost.

Quinton passed his briefcase to maid Isabela Leonard, wiping his hands roughly on the towel she provided. “Since when does this

household require its lady to cook?” he snapped. “We employ staff for this. And half the establishments in town serve superior food

anyway. The words were cutting, but I detected the familiar protective tone in his voice.

I knew Quinton was correct. The Callum weren’t extremely wealthy, but certainly comfortable enough to eat out frequently.

Tonight’s cooking stemmed from my guilt. For years, I had prepared elaborate birthday feasts for Donovan Jacob, yet never made even a

basic salad for my own father. The shame of that neglect stung more intensely than any oven heat.

Amber nudged Quinton under the table when he continued making cutting remarks. He grimaced and finally quieted.

The dinner overflowed with joy. Amber insisted everyone take photos between courses. After eating, Camila playfully smeared cake on

my face.

Amber did the same to Quinton. Soon Camila had us all singing the birthday song before we extinguished the candles together.

Among the laughter, my chest constricted as I recalled how I had spent this date for the previous years. But those times were finished.

Opening my social media for the first time since marriage, I uploaded nine radiant photos of tonight’s celebration. The caption read

simply, [This day belongs to you now, Dad. Happy birthday.]

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