Chapter Thirty-Seven
Paul
Such a wonderful night celebrating these warriors, including my dear friend Sophie, who is currently battling breast cancer. Sophie, you inspire me every day! #FightLikeAGirl #PinkGala #BaileyBanksOnIt @salvatoreintl
My hand starts to shake as I look at the social media post in front of me.
Iknowhow pathetic this is, and Iknowthat I should stop.
But I can't.
Bailey Banks, I've learned, is a journalist who actively posts on both her personal and professional social media. I know this because I've been obsessively searching their accounts for any mention of Sophie. I've already saved the photo she shared of Sophie from the article, and I quickly capture a screenshot of the one I’m looking at now.
I'm like a starving dog scavenging for glimpses of Sophie. She never cared for social media, finding it pointless and always valuing her privacy, so I knew I'd never see her post anything there.
The pictures saved in my camera roll from our years together—vacations, cooking dinner, tangled in the sheets—and the prized Polaroid I keep in my wallet are tainted. All they do is remind me of the Sophie that I destroyed, and I can't look at those without crying anymore. I need to see Sophie as she is now. To remind myself that she's still here, that she still exists in this world.
And to remind myself that maybe... maybe there's still a chance.
That hope is the whole reason I'm sitting in this therapist's waiting room right now. I need to hope for a future where I can repair the harm I caused Sophie, and show her that I've changed, that I'm not the short-sighted, immature boy who devastated her.
Maybe I can change and become the man she deserves.
Maybe... she'll let me try again.
Selfish, I know, but I need to hold onto hope for the future because the past makes me too sick to think about it.
I just... I want—need—to see her.
And fucking hell, she looks...
Sophie looks incredible.
Beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous.
Happy.
I drink in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. Pink dress, hair and makeup done, smiling brightly at the camera in front of a pink decorated hall. She looks like my Sophie—different in some ways—the hair likely a wig, her eyebrows done differently. She's thinner, paler, but the Sophie I knew and loved is still there.
Conflicting emotions fill me when I see how happy she looks. Happy that she's happy, but wrecked because she's happywithout me.
There's a whole carousel of photos in this post—many feature Sophie and the journalist, Bailey. There's a mirror selfie—Sophie and Bailey pouting and blowing kisses at the camera. Sophie mid-laugh while Bailey sticks her tongue out. Bailey and Sophie's faces squished together, smiling brightly for the camera. Bailey and a dark-haired man in a tux holding her, and—
I flinch so hard that the phone slips from my hand and lands on the floor with a loud thud, sounding deafening in the quiet of the waiting room. There's a ringing in my ears, andmy heart slams in my chest to the point I think everyone can hear it. I glance around the nearly empty waiting room, and the receptionist at the front looks at me, concerned.
Giving her a tight smile, I take a deep breath and reach down, grabbing the phone.
I hesitate for a second before I turn it around.
It's like a punch to the gut.
I think everything inside me is collapsing in on itself. All the air leaves my lungs at once, the walls close in on me, and the vein in my temple throbs painfully.
It's Sophie...
And Callum.
It's an action shot of him lifting her, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her legs popped up like an old movie. Sophie's head is tipped back, eyes closed in pure joy, a bright smile on her face. She looks free, like she's flying.
