The Abandoned Wife's Second Chance (Scarlett and Jasper) novel Chapter 11

Chapter 11

(Jasper’s POV)

I’ve been sitting in my car for who knows how long.

The rain hasn’t stopped. Neither have I.

My back aches from sleeping hunched over the steering wheel. My stomach growls, but I can’t leave. What if Chloe comes back? What if she knows where Scarlett went?

I rub my eyes, checking my phone for the hundredth time. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing.

The parking lot of Chloe’s apartment complex has become my prison. A few neighbors have walked by, giving me strange looks through their umbrellas. One old man knocked on my window around midnight, asking if I needed help.

“I’m fine,” I told him.

But I’m not fine. I’m falling apart.

The rain pounds against the windshield like bullets. Each drop feels personal, like the sky is punishing me for what I’ve done.

My phone shows it’s nearly evening again. Almost twenty–four hours since my world collapsed.

I can’t sit here anymore.

I step out into the storm, instantly soaked. The cold cuts through my shirt, but I don’t care. I need to find Chloe. She has to know something.

The coffee shop across the street first. The one where Scarlett and Chloe used to meet every Tuesday. I push through the door, dripping water all over their floor.

“Excuse me,” I say to the barista, a young girl with pink hair. “Have you seen Chloe? Middle Eastern woman, about this tall?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, no.”

I try the bookstore next. Then the grocery store. The pharmacy. Every place I can think of where Chloe might go.

Nothing.

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By the time I make it back to my car, I’m shivering. My clothes stick to my skin, and my shoes squelch with every step. I must look crazy to the passerbys, but I can hardly bring myself to

care.

I slide back into the driver’s seat and slam the door. This is useless. Chloe could be

anywhere. She could have left town already,

My phone buzzes.

A call from an unknown number? My heart skips a beat.

I answer so fast I nearly drop the phone. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello? Chloe, is that you?”

The line goes dead.

Five minutes later, a text comes through from the same unknown number:

Gate 15. Flight 623 to Chicago. Leaves in 45 minutes.

Chicago. Scarlett’s going to Chicago?

My heart sinks. I don’t think. I just move. The engine roars to life, and I tear out of the parking lot so fast the devil himself might as well be chasing me.

The airport is thirty minutes away. In this rain, with evening traffic, it could take an hour for me to get to her. I weave between cars, hazard lights flashing, laying on the horn at anyone stupid enough to cut in front of me.

“Come on, come on,” I mutter, watching the clock tick by on the dashboard. Forty minutes until takeoff. Thirty–five. Thirty.

Out of the blue, a semi truck cuts me off and I slam the brakes, sliding on wet asphalt. My heart hammers against my ribs as I fight for control.

I can’t miss her. I can’t let her disappear again.

The airport parking garage is a nightmare. I abandon my car in a handicapped spot and run. My dress shoes slip on the wet concrete, but I don’t slow down.

Through the glass doors, past the check–in counters, toward security. The line stretches forever.

“Sir, you need to wait your turn,” the TSA agent says when I try to push forward.

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“My wife,” I pant, pulling out my wallet. “She’s leaving. Please.”

Something in my voice must get to him. He waves me toward the front of the line.

More Rewards

I’ve never moved so fast. Shoes off, belt off, phone in the bin. The metal detector beeps at my gold buttons, but they wave me through anyway.

Gate 15 is at the far end of the terminal. I run past families saying goodbye, past business travelers with their laptops. My lungs burn, my legs ache, but I keep going.

The gate comes into view and I see her.

Scarlett.

She’s in line to board, her green hijab bright against her black dress. Even from behind, I’d know her anywhere. The way she holds her shoulders, the way she shifts her weight when

she’s nervous.

She’s here. She’s really leaving.

“Scarlett!” I shout her name, pushing through the crowd. A few people turn to stare, but she doesn’t hear me over the announcements.

The line continues to move forward, and then…she disappears down the jet bridge.

“No, no, no.” I reach the counter just as the gate agent closes the door. “Please. My wife is on that plane.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Once we close the door, no one else can board.”

I press my face to the window, watching the plane push back from the gate. Row after row of tiny windows. Is she looking out? Can she see me standing here like a fool?

The aircraft taxis toward the runway.

Just when I pull out my phone to instruct my assistant to book me the next flight, she turns her head and our gaze collides…

I forget to breathe.

For one tense moment, I think she’s going to command the flight attendant to stop the plane, to let her get off. But then…she retracts her gaze and something inside me shatters completely.

She saw me. She knows I came for her.

She saw and yet…she still left.

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< Chapter 11

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The plane’s lights disappear into the storm clouds, leaving me stunned, drained. Alone.

I drive home in a daze. The house feels like a tomb when I walk through the door. Every room

screams her absence.

Her coffee mug still sits by the sink. Her book on the nightstand, bookmark poking out where she left off reading. A romance novel about second chances.

I pick it up, and the bookmark falls out. There, in the margin, she’s written something in her neat handwriting:

“What would it feel like to be loved like this?”

The question destroys me.

I collapse onto our bed–my bed now–and pull out my phone. Maybe I can catch the next flight. Maybe I can-

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