Chapter 3
Sophie's voice was soft, like she was afraid of breaking something.
"Your parents, it was a mudslide. They were on a trip. Summer after your sophomore year," she said.
The words hit me like a rusted key jammed into a lock. No clear picture came through. All I got was ringing in my ears and a heavy, dull pain in my chest.
My hand pressed against my heart.
Sophie saw my face go pale. Her eyes filled with pity.
She squeezed my fingers and kept going. "You completely fell apart. For a whole month. Me and Michael. We stayed with you through it."
Michael.
His name again. Not the cold "husband" label anymore. Now he was part of the story about surviving something awful together.
My heart got even more tangled.
"You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you afloat," Sophie said, her gaze drifting to the window as if she was reaching back for something warm.
She continued, "When his business was struggling, you stayed. Basement apartments. Fast food. You never complained.
"When he made it, he proposed. Big wedding. We all thought you'd finally made it."
Her voice shifted and got harder. Her grip on my hand tightened.
"But things changed when his company got bigger. More meetings. More trips. You got anxious.
"You started seeing threats everywhere. Checking his phone. Following him.
"Emily, I tried to warn you. I told you not to put everything on him. You needed your own life."
Sophie's voice cracked with helplessness. "But you wouldn't listen. You were stuck.
"Then one time, after a huge fight with him, you showed up at my place. Crying like your heart was breaking.
"I was so frustrated. So worried. I said something harsh."
She took a breath, like saying it cost her something. "I yelled, 'Emily, look at yourself. You've lost yourself over a man!'"
My heart shrank.
Even without the memory, I could feel how much that must have hurt. Not advice anymore. A slap.
"You thought I was judging you and blaming you. We fought like crazy, and then we never talked again," she said.
Sophie's tears finally fell. "As for Michael, about two years ago, there was this woman. Business partner. They got close.
"You found some work emails. Nothing obvious, but they were flirty. You lost it."
She paused. Her voice got heavy. "You went to his office. In front of everyone. Made a huge scene. Humiliated him. After that, he checked out. You started sleeping in separate rooms."
The story was done.
The café played soft music. I couldn't stop crying.
Twenty-eight-year-old Emily took shape in my mind.
Someone who lost everyone, clung to love like a life raft, and then drowned herself in fear and suspicion.
The beginnings were beautiful.
The shy glances. The promises. All real, probably.
But so was the exhaustion, the regret, and the way they looked at each other like strangers.
She pushed away everyone who tried to save her and trapped herself in a cage of her own making.
"So," I said, lifting my head. Tears blurred everything. Guilt crushed my chest. "I pushed you away. I became someone I don't even recognize. A joke."
"No." Sophie grabbed my shoulders. Her eyes were fierce. "That wasn't all of you. You lost too much. Even when we were there, we couldn't fully understand. You were hurting too much."
She looked at me, steady and clear. "Don't blame yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. You just got lost."
Sophie's words cracked open my dark world.
She didn't blame me. She called it hurting too much.
Aching and warmth flooded through me at the same time.
"Sophie..." I couldn't say anything else.
"Don't go back to that house." Sophie squeezed my hand. "Stay with me. My home is your home."
I nodded without thinking.
I needed somewhere to breathe. Somewhere safe. Not that cold villa full of Michael's presence.
The villa was empty when I got back. Good.
I grabbed some clothes and stuffed them into a bag.
As I moved, I noticed a door at the end of the hall. It was slightly open.
The master bedroom. Michael's room.
Something pulled me toward it.
I pushed the door open.
The room was gray and black. It felt cold and neat, just like him.
My eyes went straight to the papers on the nightstand.
On crisp white paper, the top line stood out in stark black print—Divorce Agreement.
My chest squeezed.
I walked over. My fingers trembled against the cold paper.
So this was where twenty-eight-year-old Emily's desperate holding on ended.
Next to the papers sat a photo frame.
I picked it up.
Us. Younger. College. A campus covered in golden ginkgo leaves.
He was carrying me on his back. I had my arms around his neck, laughing like an idiot. Sunlight filtered through the branches.
Michael was looking sideways at me. His smile was real and warm. His eyes were full of something I could barely look at.
This photo hit harder than the beach one.
Because it was earlier and younger, and the love was simpler and brighter.
My heart ached for reasons I couldn't name.
Emily. If you could do it over, would you still hold on so tight? Even as he drifted further away?
But no one could make that decision for me.
Not even eighteen-year-old me.
"What are you doing?" A cold voice came from the doorway.