Inside, the house is warm. Clean. Quiet. Exposed beams, open space, and soft lighting. I had it designed to be a refuge from the noise of our world. Somewhere safe.
I don’t know if she even sees it.
She’s still hugging herself like she’ll fall apart if she lets go.
I gesture toward the long couch in the living room. "You can sit."
She doesn’t move right away. Warily, she takes in me and her surroundings before she lowers herself slowly onto the edge of the cushions, like she’s waiting for the couch to bite her. I have no idea what to say or do. I watch her stare at the floor. "Do you want some water?"
She shakes her head.
"Food?"
Nothing.
I drag a hand through my hair and take a seat across from her, keeping my distance. "Should I call a doctor?"
She shakes her head again.
"Do you want some Tylenol?"
Another shake.
"I’m not going to hurt you, Sophia," I say quietly.
Her arms tighten around herself.
"I know that doesn’t mean anything right now," I add. "But it’s the truth."
A beat passes.
Then her voice, a whisper, "Why now?"
Fuck, that single question obliterates my heart. Shatters it, the pieces piercing my soul with an agony that's beyond words. I swallow hard. Why now indeed?
Because I saw what he did to her. Because I saw what I let happen by walking away. Because I couldn’t live with it for one more fucking day.
But all I can say is, "Because I should’ve done it a long time ago."
And because I still love you. But I can’t say that part either.
Not when she can’t even look me in the eyes.
I show her to the guest room. It’s the nicest one in the house besides the master. Everything was built with her in mind, I just never once, for one second, considered shemight be sleeping in here and not with me. This room seems inviting enough with its soft ivory walls, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out into the woods, and a bed that’s never been slept in. I never brought anyone here.
Not even once.
She walks in slowly, still keeping her arms wrapped tight around her ribcage, like she’s afraid it might all vanish if she breathes too loud.
"I’ll leave the door open while I’m in here," I tell her, my voice low. Measured. "You can lock it from the inside."
She doesn’t respond. Just sits down on the edge of the bed, knees together, fingers clenched in the fabric of her skirt. I don’t push. Even though I want to. I want to hear her tell me the hell she went through. I need to hear it before I can beg her forgiveness. I need to hear it, so I can plan what I'm going to do to Roberto.
After a moment, I step out and run into the kitchen. I need something to do. Her silence is driving me mad. I return with a small tray. Just something warm, bread, sliced fruit, a cup of fucking chamomile tea. I also bring a bottle of water and a small white pill. When I set the tray down on the dresser, she doesn’t even glance at it.
"I brought you something to help you sleep," I say gently, holding out the pill in my palm. "It’s just a Xanax. You won’t feel it hit, but you’ll sleep through the night."
Her eyes flick to mine for the first time since we got here. There’s a long pause. Then, without a word, she takes it.No water. No questions. Deep inside me, I suspect she would have taken it even if I’d told her it was poison. Just to escape. That thought hurts like hell.
