The Scent of Lavender

My hands tremble as I pour the tea, and steam curls from the porcelain cup like abandoned promises. Sarah's voice hums softly in the background, but I only hear fragments—something about the garden, the weather, the neighbor's new dog.

It all feels remote, like an echo from a time when everything made sense."Maybe you should rest a little bit, Ellen," she adds, placing her cup down and smoothing the creases in her dress. Her eyes are too sweet and tender, like if I were frail. "You look exhausted.”

I smile nicely and shake my head. "I'm fine, really."But she does not believe me. I don't believe myself either.Sarah looks at the clock. 3:45. I know what she is thinking. It is always around this time. I do not need the clock to tell me that.

The doorbell rings, disturbing the silence. I flinch as the cup trembles in my hand. Sarah notices, but says nothing. Instead, she gives me another tight-lipped smile before standing to answer the door.

Voices mutter in the hallway—low, stiff, and businesslike. I recognize who it is before I hear his name. Detective Harris. He has been here every day for the last week, casting a calm shadow over everything.

Sarah returns with him, her expression meticulously composed, as if she is attempting to appear that everything is normal. However, nothing is normal. Not anymore."Mrs. Clarkson," Detective Harris greets me, his voice as stiff as his stance. He tips his hat, but the move feels more like habit than respect.

"Detective," I nod, clinking my tea cup. "Any news?"His jaw tightens slightly, and a dark flicker passes through his eyes as he sits opposite me. "We are still working on it. I would like to ask you a couple more questions, if that is okay.

"I lean back, pretending to seem calm, but my heart is rattling in my chest like a trapped bird. "Of course."He takes a notepad from his jacket and flips it open, its pages old and crinkled. "Do you remember the last time you saw your husband?”

My lips tense as I reach for the teapot. "It was late afternoon, maybe a week ago. "He was in the garden. I look out the window at the finely maintained rows of lavender, swaying in the breeze. "He loved it out there.""And there was nothing unusual about his behavior?" the detective asks, his pen poised over the paper.

I pause to contemplate his question. Nothing strange. Except for everything."He seemed... distant," I concede, my voice barely audible. "But this wasn't unusual for Robert. He was always very involved in his work.”

The detective scribbles something down, his eyes never leaving me. "And you haven't heard from him since?""No," I say in a hurry, my fingers curling in my lap. "Not a word."Sarah shifts in her seat, her gaze shifting between me and the detective, as if she is waiting for something to happen.

But I'm not sure what she's expecting. Answers? Truth?Detective Harris leans forward slightly, his tone softening. "Mrs. Clarkson, I understand this is difficult, but we must investigate every possibility. Was there anything—anything—that could explain why your husband disappeared? Any arguments? Financial problems?

I nodded my head. "No. "Nothing like that."But there was.There were some late nights. The murmured phone calls. The missing dinners. Then there was the letter.I found it in his desk drawer a few days before he vanished, neatly folded in an envelope with no name. The words were etched into my memory.

"I can't keep pretending. We both see this isn't working. "I need to move on."But I had never mentioned anything. Not to him, or to anyone. I wasn't prepared to confront what those statements truly meant. And now... I wasn't sure if I'd ever do it.

"Mrs. Clarkson?" Detective Harris prompts, bringing me back to the present."I'm sorry," I say quietly, blinking fast. "What did you say?"His eyes narrow slightly, and I wonder whether he is able to read my thoughts. "Is there anything you didn't tell us? "Anything at all?"I open my lips to deny it, but the words become stuck in my throat. There's so much I haven't told him.

Too much, I haven't told anyone.Sarah stands abruptly, adjusting her clothing again. "I believe Ellen has had enough for today, Detective. "She has been through a lot."Harris hesitates, but eventually gets to his feet, his notepad snapping shut. "Of course." We will be in touch.

He taps his hat one more before leaving, his footsteps ringing through the hall like a drumbeat. Sarah watches him leave with her arms tightly crossed over her chest.Once the door is closed, the silence returns, regressive and killing."Ellen," Sarah replies softly, "are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"I try to meet her stare and almost do.

I almost tell the truth about the late-night arguments, the screaming bouts, and the bruises that appeared like dark flowers beneath my skin. His hands would tighten around my wrists till I felt like I was going to break. The way he'd laugh afterward, like if everything was a game.But I don't. I cannot. Because the truth is, Robert isn't returning.

And I am the one who made certain of it.I look out the window again, at the lavender waving in the breeze, its perfume delicious and enticing. The truth I will never reveal is hidden under those flawless rows of purple.