Chapter 29
An angry laugh escapes my lips before I could stop it–a sharp, bitter sound that echoes off the cold marble walls of my bedroom. It startles even me, the way it cracks the silence.
I remembered the flowers that Gabriella held in all her pictures. Hydrangeas, tulips, daisies, and those damn pink peonies. Tristan had hardly given me flowers during our dating phase, because they were too expensive and would wilt away, so what was the use?
But Gabriella was the exception…she got the side of him that Tristan refused to offer even to me.
Twelve years. Twelve whole years I gave to this man. Twelve years of believing in his promises, his warm smiles, his “I’m just tired, baby” excuses. I used to wait by the door like some pathetic puppy, smiling like a fool when he’d come home and hand me a single rose, wilted at the edges like it had been picked up last minute at some roadside vendor. And I’d cling to it. I’d press it into old books like it meant something. Like I meant something. “He remembered,” I’d whisper to myself with a smile, convincing my heart that a crumb was a feast.
I remember the way he used to kiss my forehead before leaving for work, the way he’d curl his fingers around mine in the middle of the night. I remember the stupid dream we built together–white picket fences, weekend brunches, growing old side by side. He told me we’d travel the world.
And still, a part of me aches for him. Isn’t that the cruelest part of it all? That even after everything, after the betrayal, after the shattered trust- I still miss the man I thought he was. But maybe he never existed. Maybe he was just an illusion painted by hope and my need to be loved.
But I’m done. No more illusions. No more waiting.
I had been the perfect housewife. Dutiful. Loyal. Forgiving. But I wasn’t going to be a doormat anymore. I wasn’t going to keep swallowing my pride and letting it rot in my stomach like acid. I wiped the remaining tears away with the back of my hand and let out a shaky breath. No more. No more pretending. No more hoping. No more of this damn waiting.
I picked up my phone, my thumb hesitating above the screen as if the weight of this moment was too much for my body to carry. There was one number. One number I hadn’t called in ages. A number I had buried like a secret deep in my soul because I had left everything behind when I left with Tristan.
I had memorized it once, out of instinct. It used to be my comfort–my lifeline–and then, suddenly, it became forbidden. My heart pounded as 1 pulled up the contact, my finger hovering. I could almost hear my past self whispering, Don’t do it, Sophia. But that girl–naïve and soft–spoken- was gone. She died the day Tristan cheated.
I clicked Call.
The phone rang once. Then twice. I almost hung up. I didn’t even know what I was going to say. What could I say after all this time?
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end froze me.
It was warm. Familiar. A voice that wrapped around my bones and pulled memories out of places I’d tried so hard to bury.
“It’s me,” I said, my voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “It’s Sophia.”
There was a long pause, a silence so loud it filled my ears with static. Then-“Sophia… Is everything okay?”
No. Nothing was okay. I was broken. I was tired. I was furious. And I was done pretending that I could carry this weight alone. I sank down onto the edge of the bed, clutching the phone like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
“No,” I breathed. “But I think I’m ready to fix it. Or at least… fix me.”
I heard a breath on the other end, shaky like mine, and then-
“Where are you?”
And just like that, for the first time in years, I didn’t feel invisible. I felt seen. And it scared the hell out of me.
