He couldn't bear to look her in the eyes any longer. With a quick nod and a voice rough with emotion, he managed to say, "Thanks for sharing that with me, but even if she can take care of herself, I still wish I could be there for her and our kid..."
He lowered his head, busying himself once more, a hint of moisture forming in his eyes.
These darn contacts, they just don't feel right, irritating his eyes.
Lizetta, seeing his downcast mood, thought it was because he couldn't be with his wife. She admired the man for always thinking about his wife, wanting to share her burdens. She smiled again, saying, "Even though you can't be there in person, calling her often and sending her surprises can also be a great way to show you care. I'm sure your wife can feel the love."
Remington looked up again, his gaze resting on the cheerful woman. Suddenly, he asked, "Is your husband with you? Or does he also stay in touch by calling?" Lizetta paused, her smile fading.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not prying into your privacy. I was just wondering, if your husband isn't around, what kind of gifts does he send you?"
Lizetta avoided his gaze this time, clearly displeased. Her lips tightened, and then, losing interest in the conversation, she uttered, "He's gone." Those three simple words felt like three sharp swords piercing straight through Remington's heart, spreading a painful sensation throughout his body.
So, in her mind, was he, Remington, as good as dead?
Or did she wish he was dead, never to reappear in her world?
His face, hidden behind a façade, turned pale as he replied with a voice strained by restraint, "I'm sorry..."
Lizetta shook her head, "It's okay, but I guess I can't be of any help to you now."
After saying this, she politely nodded and left, disappearing into her room.
Remington watched her go, his gaze lingering long after she was gone, his throat aching with dryness. Dora approached, asking, "What's wrong?"
He quickly averted his gaze, speeding up his work, and simply said, "Two parts broke, fixing them now."
He quickly finished the repairs and rekindled the fireplace.
Lizetta didn't come out of her room again, and Remington left with a heavy heart.
For the next two days, he didn't show up, and Lizetta's life went on as usual.
From a distance, Remington watched her. He knew she did yoga by the patio door in the morning. In the sunny afternoons, she'd take food out to feed the stray cats around town and go for walks by the lake. She was also quite popular with the local kids. They'd run up to her, laughing and playing, dancing and singing around her.
In the evenings, a few children would knock on her door, eager to hear her tell tales of mythology by the fireplace.
She was a captivating storyteller, leaving the kids in awe as they chattered excitedly on their way home.
At night, she'd wrap herself in a warm coat and gaze up at the stars, sometimes lighting sparklers for her own amusement. Compared to his own restless turmoil, she seemed content and at peace.
"Mr. Remington Dashiell, we've been here for three days now. Are you going to keep avoiding your wife like this?
Cedric called again today, urging you to bring your wife back home."
As the lights in the villa below went out again, Ray, rubbing his temples in frustration, approached the silhouette shrouded in shadows, resembling a man turned to stone from longing for his wife. Lately, Remington had been acting so unlike himself that even Ray was starting to feel the strain.
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