Leona Grant opened the notebook. Inside were ssages written by Annabelle Linton.
It carried a faint, fresh scent. Her handwriting was neat and crisp, pleasant to look at.
Leona Grant flipped to a random page and saw one of her ssages.
"I’m on a business trip to Astoria and will probably be back in a little over twenty days. The proposal for your company’s newest project is in a green folder. You fell asleep last night, so I put it on the second shelf of your bookcase. You’ll see it when you walk over."
Leona Grant could almost picture her before she left, hesitating over whether to tell him. But she would have given up, anticipating his certain cold mockery, and in the end, left for her business trip all alone.
Leona Grant’s lips pressed into a sad line as he flipped to another random page.
"I have to be out tonight and probably won’t be coming ho, but I’ll do my best not to stay out all night. I heard from Chase that you’re going to Vesperia for a business deal. It’s pretty cold there now, so I packed a few seasonal clothes for you. I left them on the coffee table."
Sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, Leona Grant let out a sudden chuckle.
’You idiot. What does it matter to if you co ho or not? And you’ll do your best not to stay out all night?’
Yes, at the ti, he had indeed found her ssages laughable.
But every ti, he would find what she had left for him right where she said it would be.
A simple phone call would have sufficed, yet she always chose this troubleso, unreliable thod. It wasn’t because she enjoyed the hassle.
It was because he had blocked her. She had no way to contact him at all.
Leona Grant rested one hand on his forehead while the other gently caressed the words in the notebook. A faint shimr glistened in his eyes.
The notebook had about five hundred pages, and Annabelle Linton had filled more than half of it with ssages for him. She had likely been writing them since they got married, a testant to how long he had been giving her the cold shoulder.
All the ssages were written in black ink. She knew he disliked seeing words written in any other color.
That was how well she knew him, how deeply she understood him. Yet she never tried to get closer, always standing silently behind him.
She would step forward when he needed her and silently retreat when he didn’t.
In truth, it wasn’t that she was unwilling to draw near. Loving him had simply beco a habit, one etched into her very bones. Keeping her distance was a form of self-preservation.
He always ended up hurting her.
Even though she never got a reply, she kept leaving the ssages.
That was because, from the very first ti he hadn’t rejected one of her notes, Annabelle Linton had resolved to take care of him this way.
Leona Grant was only now realizing what a hypocrite he was.
He would talk about how much he disdained her, how much he loathed her, but in reality, he had never once refused her gestures.
He always took her efforts for granted.
He wore the clothes she ironed, ate the breakfast she made, and used the things she prepared for him.
He rembered one ti when Annabelle Linton was sick. He had a business trip, and one of the maids had packed his luggage.
Even though it was winter at his destination, the maid had packed sumr clothes. The toiletries she included were either the wrong size or in colors he couldn’t stand.
Annabelle Linton had never made a mistake like that, not once.
Whenever Annabelle Linton wasn’t there, the first thing he’d do upon returning ho was instinctively check the notebook for a ssage.
Then, he would toss it aside with a sneer, only to end up following her instructions anyway.
So, it turned out that for the last two years, he had long grown accustod to her care and companionship. Yet he did nothing but hurt her, never once showing his appreciation.
What he failed to realize was that this very behavior was the reason Annabelle Linton had hesitated for so many years.
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