Chapter 137 New Ways To Echo Savannah Four days later. I feel hollow. It feels like something inside me drained out and forgot to come back. The silence in this house has a shape now—it sits between the walls, breathes through the floors, then curls around me when I’m alone. Which I am, all of the time actually. Roman hasn’t spoken to me since that argument. And I haven’t spoken to him either. We move around each other like polite strangers who share a kitchen and a bed they no longer touch. He leaves before sunrise, comes home long after midnight. Some nights I hear the garage door open and close again within minutes—he doesn’t even come inside. Once, he didn’t come home at all. He slept at his office. I didn’t ask why. I knew why. He’s avoiding me. It's clear as day. And maybe I deserve that. Maybe this time I pushed him too far. He’s always been the one to fix things first. The one to swallow his pride, to say ‘let’s not fight anymore’, to find me and press his lips to my forehead even when I’m still angry. But now, there’s nothing. No footsteps outside the bedroom door. No soft apologies in the dark. Just distance. Cold, intentional distance. We’ve never gone this long without talking. Five years of knowing him and this is the longest silence we’ve ever had. It’s killing me, though I’ll never admit it out loud. He doesn’t even eat what I cook anymore. The first night, he pushed his plate aside signalling that he wasn’t hungry. The second night, he didn’t come home. By the third, I stopped cooking at all. What’s the point of setting the table when the chair across from you stays empty? Sometimes I wonder what he thinks of me now. Maybe he’s scared I’ll poison his food out of bitterness. Maybe he thinks I’m that kind of woman. If only he knew an orange jumpsuit isn’t even in my top hundred favorite outfits to wear. The thought made me laugh for half a second, then it died out. I miss him so much it’s actually pathetic. Initially I tried comforting myself with the thought that I was probably just horny. But that lie clearly didn't last. I just miss the man I fell in love with. I miss his voice in the mornings, his body lying beside mine, the way he’d text me in the middle of the day just to ask if I’d eaten or if I was okay. Now, there’s nothing. The silence has a weight to it. It presses down on me until I can barely breathe. I know I should be the one to reach out. To say I’m sorry. To bridge the gap I helped create. But pride is an ugly thing—it sits heavy in my throat, makes every apology taste like swallowing glass. And maybe, deep down, I’m scared. Scared that even if I did apologize, it wouldn’t fix anything this time. Maybe the damage is already done. Maybe we’ve finally reached the point of no return. He ignored me in the kitchen three days ago. I was standing by the counter, pretending to pour coffee I didn’t need, just to have something to do when he walked in. I said, “Morning.” He didn’t even glance at me. Just grabbed an apple and left. I cried that day. Not a lot. But just enough to remind myself that I still could. And yes, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t have accused him of things I didn’t mean, or dragged Penny’s name and their relationship into the conversation when it should have had no place there.It’s not that I don’t trust Roman. I do—at least, I try to. But it’s everyone else that I don’t trust. He’s very handsome. Charismatic. The kind of man who walks into a room and people turn to look, not because he tries to be noticed, but because he can’t help it. He’s also successful, powerful, magnetic in ways that attract people like moths to a flame. A charming speaker. A gentleman. Every fucking thing in the list. And women… women are just naturally drawn to him. They always have been. And they usually make the most out of their ten seconds. Then it's over. None of them ever made the ‘girlfriend’ title. Penny’s not the first. She probably won’t be the last. They'll keep throwing themselves at him every time he breathes. I sound ridiculous, I know. Jealous and small and insecure. Like some washed-up housewife terrified her husband will leave her for someone younger. Except Roman and I aren’t even married. Who am I kidding? The man probably doesn’t even want to marry me. Not when I act like this. Not when I can’t stop letting my fears claw their way into every argument. The thought makes my chest ache. I press my palms together and stare out the window. It’s late morning, sunlight cutting soft gold lines across the table. I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour, staring at nothing. After four days of silence, I couldn’t take the walls anymore. So I drove down to New Hope. I told myself it was to visit Mom—but really, it was to breathe again. “Savannah?” A voice snaps me out of it. Alyssa’s standing in front of me, waving a bottle of water like a weapon. “You okay? You’ve been staring into space and biting your nails like a lunatic.” I blink. “Was I?” She smirks and whacks my shoulder lightly. “Ow,” I hissed. “Good. You’re alive.” She grins, the kind that’s half-annoying, half-endearing. Before I can respond, Lizzie’s voice floats from the corner. “Don’t you read the signs, Alyssa? It’s a lovers’ spat.” I roll my eyes, instantly regretting coming home to New Hope. Between Alyssa’s bluntness and Lizzie’s sarcasm, I might actually lose my mind.We’re sitting in Mom’s hospital room. The air smells faintly of cappuccino and flowers—Alyssa brought a bunch that are blooming in their vase. Mom’s lying back against her pillows, looking thinner than the last time I saw her, but still smiling. And still, she hasn't spoken a word about Chloe. None of them have. Strange. Maybe they're trying to avoid triggering her or something. The old Mom—the pre-cancer Mom—would have scolded Lizzie by now for her foul mouth. She'd rebuke her like she was the devil himself. But this version of her just chuckles softly. It’s strange, seeing her laugh at things that used to make her frown. I guess that's what cancer does to someone. It forces you to slow down and enjoy the moment. It forced mom to find the humor in vulgar jokes. It softens edges. Makes you treasure every sound, even the ones that used to irritate you. Alyssa suddenly gasps and covers her mouth dramatically. “Oh my God, you and Roman had a fight?” I gave her a look. “Shut up.” Lizzie snorts. “Impossible. That man worships the ground you walk on. He broke a guy’s arm for saying something he didn’t like about you. If that’s not devotion, I don’t know what is.”Mom’s expression shifts—subtle, but noticeable. Her eyes flick toward the door, then back to me. She’s probably just realizing Roman didn’t come with me like she’d asked. I didn’t tell him I was coming. I just packed a small basket, got in my car, and drove off. Maybe I was running away from the silence. Or maybe I just needed to breathe somewhere that didn’t smell like him. Mom clears her throat softly. “Savannah, honey, did you and Roman fight?” Her voice is careful, gentle. She doesn’t want to intrude, but she already has. I stare down at my hands. “It’s nothing, Mom. Just a small disagreement. We’ll be fine.” Her brows lift slightly. “But he’s not here with you. Did you tell him I wanted to see him?” I looked down at my hands. The truth sat heavy on my tongue, but lying felt easier than watching Mom’s face fall. I nod, lying through my teeth. “I did. But he’s been so busy lately, he couldn’t make the trip.” Mom studies me for a moment, her eyes sharp even through the haze of medication. She knows I’m lying. She clearly knows.“I see,” she murmurs. “So you’re not sure when he’ll be free to visit?” I shake my head. “No, I’m not.” She exhales, then glances toward Alyssa and Lizzie, who are whispering in the corner. Her tone shifts, softer now. “Savannah, I need you to give Roman a message for me.” Something in her voice makes me sit up straighter. “Of course, Mom. What is it?” She presses her lips together for a moment before speaking. “He has a good lawyer, doesn’t he?” My stomach twists. “Yes, he does.” Mom’s fingers toy with the edge of her blanket, her gaze drifting toward the window. For a second, she looks like she’s somewhere else entirely—somewhere years away from this sterile hospital room. When she looks back at me, her eyes are calm but resolute. “I need him to help me divorce my husband.” The air goes completely still. The room fell silent immediately. Alyssa literally stopped breathing. Even Lizzie stops whispering. I stare at her, unsure if I heard right. “Divorce—what?” Mom doesn’t repeat herself. She just watches me, her face unreadable. I glance at Lizzie and Alyssa. They’re both frozen, waiting for me to say something. But I can’t. My mind is spinning, trying to piece together what she just said. After a long moment, I found my voice. “Mom… you’re serious?” She nods once. “Completely.” There’s no anger in her tone. No bitterness. Just quiet exhaustion. Like she’s finally decided she’s done carrying a burden she never wanted in the first place. I feel something break inside me. Not for Julius's sake. But for her. Because I understand what that kind of decision costs. I know the courage it takes to walk away from something that’s been part of your life for… forever. To admit you can’t fix it anymore. It’s the same courage I haven’t found yet. My throat tightens. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll tell him.” Mom smiles faintly, the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart.”The room falls quiet again. The only sound is the faint beep of the monitor and the slow rhythm of Mom’s breathing. Alyssa fidgets with her phone. Lizzie stares out the window. And I sit there, feeling the weight of everything pressing down at once—Roman’s silence, my guilt, Mom’s quiet resolve. I thought coming here would help me clear my head. Instead, it just made everything heavier. Maybe that’s the thing about silence—it doesn’t fade. It just finds new ways to echo louder.