It was late afternoon when I saw Amelia return home. Normally, I'd have been in the kitchen or tidying her room, but today I happened to be near the main hall, dusting the staircase banister. The sound of the front door closing drew my attention, and I turned to see her walking in, head lowered, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

Something was wrong.

Amelia didn't acknowledge the staff or her surroundings. She moved like a ghost, her steps slow and heavy. Her hands clutched the strap of her bag tightly, her knuckles pale. It wasn't until she passed by me on the staircase that I caught a glimpse of her face—and the unmistakable redness around her eyes.

She had been crying.

I froze, my chest tightening at the sight. Whatever had happened, it was bad. And judging by the silence that surrounded her like a shroud, she wasn't ready to talk about it.

As much as I wanted to rush after her, I knew better. Amelia wasn't the type to fall apart in front of others, even when she was breaking inside. She needed time.

But as the hours passed and the house settled into its evening lull, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I paced outside her room, debating whether or not to knock. Would she even let me in?

Finally, I mustered the courage. I knocked twice, just like I used to, and then entered.

Amelia sat by the window, staring out into the garden. The soft evening light cast her in a pale glow, making her look even more fragile than usual. Her bag was on the floor beside her, untouched. Her hands rested in her lap, twisting a handkerchief between trembling fingers.

"Amelia?" I said softly, stepping closer.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes red and swollen. She tried to smile, but it wavered, and her lips trembled. "Oh, Lena. I didn't hear you come in."

I approached her slowly, unsure of how much to say. "I wanted to check on you. Are you... are you okay?"

Her laughter was soft but bitter, almost like a sigh. "I'm fine," she said, though her voice cracked on the last word.

I crouched beside her, placing a hand gently on the armrest of her chair. "You don't look fine, Amelia. Did something happen?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the handkerchief. For a moment, I thought she wouldn't answer. But then she closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath.

"I went to his office today," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought it would be nice to surprise him. To bring him lunch." She gave a small, hollow laugh. "I've never done that before, but I thought maybe... maybe it would remind him that I'm still here."

My chest ached at her words, but I stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"I didn't even make it inside," she said, her voice growing weaker. "I heard them talking. His employees. They didn't see me, but I heard them."

Her hands trembled, the handkerchief twisting tighter between her fingers.

"They said his first love is back. Saddie." She spat the name like it burned her tongue. "They said he's been spending time with her. That he's different when he's with her."

Tears welled in her eyes again, spilling down her cheeks as her voice broke. "I knew he didn't love me, Lena. I've always known that. But to hear it like this... to hear that he's with her... I just..."

Her voice faltered completely, and she covered her face with her hands.

I stood there for a moment, frozen by the rawness of her pain. And then I moved. I knelt beside her, gently taking her hands away from her face.

"Amelia," I said softly, my voice steadier than I expected. "You don't deserve this."

She looked at me, her tear-filled eyes searching mine.

"You don't deserve to be treated like you're invisible," I continued. "You're kind, talented, and far too good for this."

Her lips quivered, and fresh tears spilled over. "But I'm his wife," she whispered. "I made vows. I... I love him."

My heart twisted. I wanted to tell her to leave him, to walk away from this pain, but I couldn't. Not yet. She wasn't ready, and pushing her too soon would only make her cling tighter to the life she had built around him.

Instead, I reached for the handkerchief, gently pulling it from her trembling fingers. "Loving someone doesn't mean losing yourself," I said, my voice soft but firm. "You're allowed to want more, Amelia. You're allowed to be happy."

She didn't respond, but I could see her trying to process my words.

For the next few minutes, we sat in silence. I stayed by her side, letting her cry without judgment or interruption. When her tears finally slowed, I handed her the handkerchief and stood.

"I'll bring you some tea," I said, giving her a small, reassuring smile.

She nodded weakly, her voice too shaky to reply.

As I left the room, my chest felt heavy with the weight of her sadness. This was just the beginning. The cracks were starting to show, and if the story was following its course, the next few months would only get worse.

But I wouldn't let it.

Amelia deserved better. And if no one else was going to fight for her, then I would.