Scented Claudia

RAPHAEL'S POV:

I woke slowly, rolling onto my side to pull her closer.

But i found nothing.

Just cold sheets.

I blinked blearily in the early morning light.

"Claudia?"

My voice was rough with sleep.

No answer.

I pushed myself up on one elbow.

Her side of the bed was empty.

The blanket half-folded.

No warmth.

My heart beat a little faster.

I swung my legs off the bed, running a hand through my hair.

Maybe she was in the bathroom.

I waited a second.

Listened.

Silence.

Something felt wrong.

Very wrong.

I stood and padded across the room, bare feet on the cold floor.

"Claudia?"

Nothing.

I checked the bathroom.

Empty.

The light was off.

Her toothbrush was gone.

I felt ice crawl up my spine.

My eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of her.

Her closet door was ajar.

I walked over slowly, hand shaking as i pushed it open.

Empty hangers swung slightly.

Her favorite dress was gone.

Her suitcase was gone.

"No."

I said it out loud.

As if denying it could make it untrue.

I turned, heart pounding like it was trying to escape my ribs.

That was when i saw it.

On the dining table.

A single sheet of paper.

I moved like i was underwater.

Slow. Heavy.

I picked it up.

Read it.

Once.

Twice.

My vision blurred.

Divorce.

Her signature at the bottom.

But no letter.

No explanation.

No "I'm sorry."

No "I love you."

Nothing.

My hands shook so badly the paper crumpled.

I pressed it against my forehead, trying to breathe.

But there wasn't enough air in the condo.

I stumbled back, my knees hitting a chair.

I sat heavily.

Stared at the paper.

Felt something crack wide open in my chest.

"Claudia," I whispered.

It sounded broken.

I didn't remember standing.

I didn't remember grabbing my phone.

I only realized when i was already outside, barefoot, still in my t-shirt and boxers, dialing her number over and over.

It rang.

And rang.

No answer.

Voicemail.

"Claudia. Please. Call me back. Please."

I hung up.

Called again.

Voicemail.

I sent a text.

Where are you? Please. Talk to me.

Another.

I'm sorry if i did something. Just come home. Please.

Another.

I love you.

No reply.

I went back inside.

Paced the living room.

Tripped over her abandoned slippers.

Kicked them across the room in rage.

I wanted to destroy everything.

But i sank to my knees instead.

Clutching that paper like it was a death certificate.

Maybe it was.

Eventually i dressed.

Shaking.

Breathing like i'd run a marathon.

I didn't even put on socks.

Just shoes, thrown on in haste.

Keys.

Wallet.

Phone.

I drove too fast.

Didn't care.

Ran a red light.

Didn't care.

I parked crooked in front of her parents' house, tires screeching.

I didn't even knock.

I banged on the door so hard my knuckles bled.

Her mother opened, face pale.

"Raphael—"

"Where is she?"

My voice was ragged.

She flinched.

Her father appeared behind her.

I looked between them, desperate.

"Please," I begged. "I don't know where she is. She left me these."

I held up the divorce papers, crumpled, tear-stained.

They both looked at them like they were a bomb.

"Raphael," her father said quietly. "We don't know."

"That's bullshit!" I roared.

They recoiled.

I caught myself.

Ran both hands through my hair.

"Please," I whispered.

Her mother started crying.

"She wouldn't tell us," she sobbed. "She just said… please don't tell you."

My knees buckled.

I grabbed the doorframe.

"Please," I said again, voice cracking. "She's my wife."

But they just shook their heads.

I don't even remember leaving.

-

I sat in my car outside their house for a long time.

Staring at the wheel.

Trying to breathe.

She was gone.

She didn't even leave a note.

Just the divorce.

I drove back home.

If i could even call it that.

It felt hollow.

Haunted.

Her scent was there but—

No.

Not for her.

She never had a sense of smell.

It was my memory of her scent that clung to the space.

Phantom smell.

A joke from the universe.

I collapsed onto the couch.

Put my head in my hands.

And sobbed.

Long, broken, ugly sounds.

The kind of crying I hadn't done since i was a kid.

I didn't even know i could cry like that anymore.

I stayed there all day.

Didn't go to the hospital.

Didn't answer calls.

Didn't eat.

Didn't move.

Just sat.

And thought.

About her laugh.

Her stubbornness.

Her ridiculous way of arguing just to win.

The way she'd run her fingers through my hair when I couldn't sleep.

The way she always watched me.

Like she saw right through me.

At some point i got up.

Went to our bedroom.

Pulled open her side of the closet.

Empty.

I sank to the floor.

Laid there on the rug.

Stared at the ceiling.

My face felt raw from crying.

Days passed like that.

I don't remember them.

I went to work because i had to.

My patients needed me.

But i was a ghost.

The nurses stopped trying to joke with me.

My friends stopped inviting me out.

I went home to silence every night.

Ate standing up.

Slept maybe two hours.

Woke up reaching for her every time.

Only to find cold sheets.

One night i got drunk alone.

Really drunk.

The kind of drunk that made the world swim.

I dug out the divorce papers.

Read them over and over.

No letter.

No explanation.

Just finality.

I signed my part in a rage.

Ripped up the first attempt because my hand was shaking too hard.

Signed again.

Stared at my signature next to hers.

Together one last time on paper.

I held it to my chest and cried until i passed out on the floor.

Eventually i made the arrangements.

We'd married in California.

That's where i had to submit it.

It was so… bureaucratic.

So cold.

Just paperwork.

I paid the fees.

Answered the questions.

I could barely speak when they asked me if this was really what i wanted.

I lied.

Said yes.

What choice did i have?

And then there was Oxford.

That letter sat on my desk.

Mocking me.

She'd seen it.

I knew it in my gut.

That's why she left.

She didn't even have to tell me.

She knew i'd never go if she stayed.

She knew i'd choose her every time.

So she took herself off the table.

I hated her for that.

I loved her for that.

It made me want to scream.

In the end i accepted.

What else was there for me here?

Nothing.

Not without her.

I packed my bags.

I left the condo the way she left it.

Her hairbrush on the sink.

Her coffee mug in the cabinet.

I couldn't touch any of it.

I couldn't stand to see it gone.

I flew out on a gray morning.

The sky matching my mood.

I didn't tell anyone at the hospital i was leaving until the last possible moment.

They tried to stop me.

Begged me to reconsider.

Said my patients needed me.

But my heart wasn't here anymore.

And it wasn't mine anymore.