Woke Up and Left the Cage of My Marriage 16
Chapter 16
That night, Ethan went to “Lost & Found” by himself. It was the bar Natalie used to visit all the time before their marriage-and even after, sneaking out more than once until he dragged her back.
Deafening music, psychedelic lights, and a packed crowd-everything about this place clashed with his world.
He found the darkest corner booth and sat down. Then he ordered a whole line of the kind of showy, fancy cocktails Natalie had loved.
He tried to imitate her as he remembered-tilting his head back and draining each glass in one go. The sharp liquor burned his throat and stomach, bringing no relief, only overwhelming bitterness and emptiness.
The alcohol hit fast. Soon, his vision started to blur. In the spinning lights, it almost looked like Natalie was dancing right in the center of the floor-wearing a fire-red slip dress, moving wild and free to the music.
She turned around, and through the noisy crowd, flashed him a dazzling, provocative smile- just as bright as when they first met.
“Natalie!” He leapt up, stumbling toward the dance floor, chasing after her ghost. “Come
back!”
But his arms closed on thin air. He fell hard, landing on the cold, sticky floor. Glass shattered, drinks spilled all over him.
People gasped and laughed. All eyes were on him now, like he’d gone crazy.
But he barely noticed. He just lay there, pressing his face to the ground, whispering over and over in a cracked, broken voice, “Natalie… I’m sorry… Come back… Please, come back…”
A few phones flashed in the dark, catching the scene.
The next morning, the headlines were everywhere-Mr. Fletcher, out getting drunk and making a mess of himself at a bar in the middle of the night. The story spread across every finance and entertainment page.
Stock prices wobbled. His phone lit up nonstop as the family elders called in a panic.
But for the first time ever, Ethan didn’t care about the gossip or the outrage. Not at all.
He collapsed on the icy floor, gripping that diamond earring and a few pure white pigeon feathers. Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten, but his world felt as if it had already been swallowed by endless night.
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Ethan’s search for Natalie swept across the globe with an almost obsessive madness.
He called in every resource from the family business, hired the top private investigators, even reached into the darker corners of his network. It was like a massive invisible net, spread over every corner of the world.
Any lead, no matter how small, if it might be tied to Natalie, he checked it himself. The moment something came up, he’d drop everything and board the earliest flight.
The first real clue came from Paris. A detective sent a blurry candid photo-under the plane trees on the Champs-Élysées, a slim figure in a khaki trench coat and wide-brimmed hat was walking a happy corgi.
Even from behind, Ethan’s heart twisted tight. He recognized her in an instant.
The way she walked, her presence-even in a crowd, her energy always shone through. It was
etched into his bones.
He immediately canceled a crucial merger meeting and flew straight to Paris.
The clue led him to an art gallery she’d once mentioned liking, a cozy spot that sold quirky abstract paintings.
The gallery owner remembered a beautiful, blonde woman-said she’d just left and mentioned going to the bookstore on the Left Bank.
Ethan raced across the Seine, running to that packed bookstore.
He pushed through crowded shelves, eyes darting, breath quick with hope and nerves.
He could almost feel her presence hanging in the air.
He finally stopped in front of the poetry section. His fingers slid over the cover of a collection, next to an empty space on the shelf-still warm from where someone had pulled a book away.
The clerk told him that a stunning woman had just bought the last copy of Neruda’s poems.
He was a step too late.
That night, Ethan sat in a café along the banks of the Seine-perhaps in the very seat Natalie once occupied. He went through her other social media account, which she rarely used. He’d tracked down through an old friend she hadn’t contacted in years.
There wasn’t much to see. Still, to him, it was a tiny window into her new life.
The latest post was a photo taken at dusk in front of Notre-Dame. She didn’t show her face- just a single hand, holding a fresh croissant. In the background, pigeons whirled across the
square.
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The caption read: “Tasting freedom.”,
Two simple words-yet they stabbed right through Ethan’s chest like a venom-tipped needle.
He thought of the pigeon from the old family estate’s backyard-the one they turned into soup. He remembered Natalie’s desperate, heartbroken cries.
His fingers clenched the phone so tightly his knuckles went pale.
The second lead came from Iceland.
A detective sent a short video clip, shot on the famous black sand beach.
In the footage, a small figure in a bright orange windbreaker ran straight into the freezing wind and roaring waves.
Even at a distance, even blurry, that burst of energy-challenging the world-could only belong to Natalie.
Once again, Ethan didn’t hesitate.
Icelandic winter was brutal-biting winds lashed his face, icy rain felt like knives. He rented an off-road vehicle and followed the coast, asking at every inn and guesthouse.
Finally, in a tiny village near a glacier, a local hostess remembered seeing a striking blonde
woman.
“She just checked out yesterday,” the hostess told him. “Said she was going to the Blue Lagoon, maybe to catch the Northern Lights.”
Ethan drove to the Blue Lagoon right away. The lake was bright blue and full of steam and
tourists.
He checked every section, eyes sweeping over every face, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
In the lounge area outside the changing rooms, he spotted an empty chair where she must have just been. On the seat, she’d left behind a little souvenir-a fridge magnet with a volcano
on it.
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