The Absence early morning 8:00AM
The coffee brown Lexus NX Hybrid glided into the driveway like a predator returning to its den. The two-story modern home stood silent, its sleek lines and glass panels gleaming under the early morning sun. Anthony Vance parked the SUV in the garage, the engine cutting off with a soft purr. He stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his button-up shirt, the scent of California still clinging to his skin—salt air, hotel linen, and the faint perfume of someone new.
He entered the house without hesitation.
The kitchen was spotless, minimalist in design—white marble counters, chrome fixtures, and a single bowl of untouched fruit. On the island sat two items: a silver house key and a wedding ring.
Anthony stared at them for a moment.
Then he smirked.
No note. No message. Just silence.
He picked up the ring, turned it between his fingers, and set it back down with a soft clink. There was no sting, no ache. Just confirmation. Erica was gone.
He knew Erica would do this.
He walked to the living room, pulled out his phone, and tapped into his flight app. The woman from California Talia was already booked. She'd be arriving in St. Louis tomorrow. He'd promised her the master bedroom, the walk-in closet, the hot tub on the back deck. She was everything Erica wasn't—young, wild, unburdened.
Their life together had been a performance.
There were three photos in the basement told the whole story. One from their wedding, stiff smiles and forced joy. One from Hawaii, where they barely touched. One from Six Flags in Atlanta, where Erica had cried on the roller coaster and he'd laughed.
That was it.
The rest of the house was curated like a gallery—abstract art in bold strokes, sculptures of naked Greek goddess statues and men paintings of war. Nothing personal. Nothing shared.
Just Anthony.
He climbed the stairs to the master bedroom, his hazel green eyes scanning the space with clinical detachment. Erica's side of the closet was still half full—blouses, dresses, shoes lined up like soldiers. He grabbed a trash bag from the hall closet and began tossing everything in. Her perfumes, her journals, her makeup brushes.
He moved to the bathroom, swept her skincare products into the bin. Her toothbrush, her green satin bonnet, her favorite lavender soap. Gone and the medication from Walgreens.
He returned to the bedroom, opened the drawers, and dumped out her jewelry box. Bracelets, earrings, the necklace he gave her on their second anniversary. Gone.
He worked quickly, methodically.
By the time he was done, there was no trace of her.
He called his friends.
"Yo," he said, voice light. "It's done. She's gone. Come through tonight we're celebrating."
Laughter echoed through the phone.
Anthony stood in the center of the room, muscular frame relaxed, full beard neatly shaped, fade cut sharp. His serious features softened into a smile—not of relief, but of victory and peace.
He had erased her.
The next morning at 7:10AM.
Lambert Airport buzzed with the rhythm of arrivals and departures, the hum of rolling suitcases and distant announcements echoing through the terminal. Outside, the morning air was crisp, tinged with the scent of jet fuel and little cinnamon coffeeof at the nearby coffee shop.
Talia stood beneath the curved awning of the pickup zone, her posture poised, her presence magnetic.
She was a vision.
Milk chocolate skin glowed under the soft morning light, her 27-inch straight black hair cascading down her back like a silk curtain. Her black bodycon dress hugged every curve, accentuating her slim-thick frame with unapologetic elegance. Gold hoop earrings shimmered with each turn of her head, and a delicate fox-shaped necklace rested just above her collarbone. Her dark brown eyes—siren-shaped and framed by long, dramatic lashes—scanned the road with anticipation.
Her lips, painted in dark brown with a glossy sheen, parted slightly as she spotted the coffee brown Lexus SUV pulling into view.
Anthony stepped out, dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his muscular frame. His hazel green eyes locked onto hers, and in his hands, he held a dozen red roses—lush, vibrant, and unmistakably romantic.
Talia gasped, covering her mouth with one hand, her long black almond-shaped nails gleaming in the light. Tears welled in her eyes, not from sadness, but from the rush of being wanted, chosen, seen.
She walked toward him with open arms.
Anthony met her halfway, his soft smile curving into something deeper. He handed her the roses, and she clutched them to her chest like a treasure. Their lips met in a passionate kiss—public, unapologetic, and full of heat.
When they pulled apart, Anthony whispered, "Let's get you home, beautiful and Welcome to Saint Louis, Missouri."
He opened the passenger door with a flourish, and Talia slid inside, her dress smoothing over her thighs as she settled in. Anthony placed her two suitcases in the trunk, closed it with a firm click, and climbed into the driver's seat.
Before he could start the engine, Talia leaned over, her voice soft and playful.
"I missed you so much," she said, her lips brushing his cheek. "Your baby was lonely in California. I'm so happy to be here with you now."
Her smile was radiant.
Anthony glanced at her, his expression unreadable for a moment then he smiled back, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.
Saint Louis awaited.
And so did the next chapter of their life together.
The coffee brown Lexus NX Hybrid rolled into the driveway of his house in Kirkwood MO, its engine humming low beneath the weight of new beginnings. Anthony stepped out first, his black suit crisp against the fading afternoon light. He circled the SUV, opened the passenger door, and offered his hand to Talia.
She stepped out slowly, her black bodycon dress hugging her curves like silk poured over sculpture. Her long straight black hair flowed behind her, catching the breeze. Gold hoop earrings glinted in the sun, and her fox-shaped necklace rested just above her collarbone, playful and sharp. Her dark brown eyes scanned the house—two stories of modern elegance, glass and stone, clean lines and curated silence.
"Wow," she whispered. "This is yours?"
Anthony smiled. "Ours now."
She leaned into him, her golden nose ring catching the light. "It's beautiful."
He led her inside.
The moment Talia stepped through the door, she felt it.
The house was immaculate
white walls, polished floors, abstract art in bold strokes. Sculptures of naked Greek gods and women adorned pedestals like frozen desire. But there was no warmth. No clutter. No photographs on the mantle. No signs of shared life.
She turned slowly, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing.
"Where's… your wife's stuff?" she asked.
Anthony shrugged, setting her suitcases by the stairs. "Gone."
Talia blinked. "Like… gone gone?"
He nodded. "She left. I cleaned up."
Talia walked deeper into the living room, her heels clicking softly. She paused before a marble statue of a reclining female figure,carved in perfect tension.
"She really lived here?" she asked.
Anthony's voice was calm. "For a years.
Talia turned to him. "It doesn't feel like she ever did. I don't see any photos of you two and a woman touch from her. In this living room and kitchen so far.
Anthony's gaze brightly from her attention to detail slightly. "That's the point. I bought this house during our second year of marriage. I did tell her at the time to decorate the bathroom, kitchen, living room , back patio, basement to her liking, two years in she never did. So i decorated the house."
They sat together on the velvet couch, the roses she'd received earlier now resting in a crystal vase on the white coffee table. Talia curled her legs beneath her, her gold necklace catching the light as she leaned into him.
"Tell me the truth," she said softly. "When did you stop loving her?"
Anthony exhaled. "four years into our marriage. She began displaying aggression towards me, breaking things around the house, screaming, the list goes on. The peace was gone but I am still trying put the puzzle pieces together.
Talia's brows lifted.
""Predictable. But she never saw me. Not really."
Talia traced a finger along his arm. "And me?"
Anthony smiled. "You were the escape."
Their connection had begun three years ago during one of Anthony's solo trips to California. He'd told Erica it was for business, but it was really for breathing. For space. For Talia. They'd met at a rooftop lounge in San Diego, her laughter cutting through the music like a melody he hadn't known he needed.
They'd spent weekends together wine tastings, beach walks, hotel sheets tangled with heat. He never told Erica his secret affair with Talia.
He never felt guilty from it either, she was a breath of fresh air that he needed.
"She made everything a battlefield, she even flushed her medication down the toilet. "
Anthony said. "Every word was a weapon. Every silence was a punishment. She wanted me to be something else. She did not want me to be myself. I was changing for the better but it wasn't enough for her. She got greedy and wanted more from me. It's oh so much I can deliver on. She wasn't patient with me, she has throw wine bottles at me that luckily missed me, hit the wall when I would check on her sleeping randomly in the basement guest room sometimes. "
Talia nodded. "Why you put up with this?"
Anthony's voice dropped. " I stopped caring. I tried to get her admitted to the mental asylum but she acted normal with the doctors, they dismissed it. Even with me showing evidence to them and her medication, my chart medical records from Doctor Alexandria."
Talia got up and wandered through the house, her long nails trailing along the edges of furniture. She paused at the basement door, opened it, and descended slowly.
Three photos hung on the wall.
One of a wedding stiff smiles, forced joy.
One of a trip to Hawaii distance between bodies.
One of Six Flags—Erica crying, Anthony laughing.
Talia stared at them for a long moment and she did noticed the wine stained on the white stone wall a few inches from the picture that was partially cleaned.
Then she turned and walked back upstairs.
"I don'tunderstand. What made her change and stop taking her meds?," she said.
Anthony nodded. "I wish I knew the answer, I am still puzzling everything."
Talia wrapped her arms around him.
He kissed her cheek.
Evening 7:45PM
The bedroom was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting soft flickers across the walls. E! News played quietly in the background, muted voices discussing celebrity breakups and red carpet scandals. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh raspberry lemonade, the air warm with anticipation.
Talia stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the night sky and warm nightstand lamp near her. She wore a long, silky grey nightgown that clung to her curves like liquid moonlight. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, sleek and elegant, with a few strands falling around her face.
Anthony sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a black button up pajama set, he held a glass of pink raspberry lemonade in one hand, his hazel green eyes fixed on her.
She turned slowly, her dark brown eyes meeting his.
"You're staring," she said, smiling.
He didn't look away. "I've never seen silk look that good."
Talia laughed softly, walking toward him with her own glass in hand. She sat beside him, the fabric of her gown whispering against the sheets.
They sipped their lemonade
In silence for a moment, the TV flickering in the background. Then Anthony spoke.
"She wanted me to be someone I'm not."
Talia looked at him. "Erica?"
He nodded. "Five years into the marriage, everything changed. She started treating me like a project. Like I was broken and needed fixing."
Talia tilted her head. "What did she want you to be?"
Anthony's voice was low. "Quiet. Passive. Predictable. She hated when I traveled. Hated when I laughed too loud. Hated when I drew, sing and dance. She wanted me to be her version of a husband not a partner, just a placeholder."
Talia's eyes softened. "That's not love."
"No," Anthony said. "It was control."
He took another sip, then set the glass down. "She used words like weapons. Every disagreement turned into a character assassination. She'd say I was selfish, immature, emotionally unavailable. Too kind, workaholic, annoying but she never asked what I needed during our relationship and marriage.
Talia reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "Did you ever tell her?"
"I did multiple times." he said. "But she ignored. Told me to man up, men shouldn't be emotional, I'm saying nonsense and She just waited for her turn to speak. She didn't care."
Talia leaned back, her gown slipping slightly off one shoulder. Anthony's eyes followed the movement, his gaze lingering on the curve of her collarbone, the way the silk hugged her waist. She noticed, but didn't mind.
"You deserve softness," she said. "Not silence."
Anthony looked at her, something shifting in his chest. "You see me."
"I always have."
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're everything she wasn't. You're adorable to me and I adore the comfort you bring me."
Talia smiled, her voice playful. "And you're everything she didn't deserve."
They laughed softly, the tension easing into something warmer. The lemonade, the silk, the quiet all of it wrapped around them like a cocoon.
Anthony stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the city. "I used to stand here and wonder multiple times, if was ever enough despite her greed."
Talia joined him, her hand slipping into his. "you were enough, she just didn't want to appreciate that side of yours."
He turned to her, eyes searching. "Are you sure you want this?"
Talia nodded. "I didn't fly here for maybe. I want to invest my knowledge, my patiences, love, kindness and loyalty into you Anthony."
He kissed her then slow, deliberate, full of everything he hadn't said. Her body melted into his, the silk of her gown cool against the warmth of his robe. The TV continued to flicker, forgotten.
They didn't rush.
They just felt.
And for the first time in years, Anthony didn't feel like a project.
He felt like a man.
Provider.
Protector.
He felt seen.