“You need to think about you too,”Elise had told me last week, the last time we had sex. I had been staring at the ceiling of the hotel room we were in. I had admitted to feeling guilty and selfish. “You need to put yourself first sometimes, it can't always be about Sophie. Your future, your time, your energy matters too…”
Sophie is quiet for a full, awful minute. I stand there, my heart slamming. Adrenaline—terrible and acidic—flows through my veins. Her eyes flick left and right, her analytical mind racing. I have never felt so low. She connects the dots—of course she does. "So, when you were going to the bar with Brian and Chris, you were..."
"With her," I whisper. Relief I don't deserve slips in—two seconds of air—followed by agony. Her face—oh God—Sophie's perfect little face folds in devastation.
The look breaks me, and the words shoot out of me unbidden. "Sophie... I was scared, and you were so—everything was so serious, and Elise—she... she let me—just—god—breathe for a second. Because I just... needed somethingeasy."
The word makes me sick, and I force it out anyway. "She was... there. She listened and... with her, there wasn't cancer."
The betrayal cracks her face even more, "You were talking about my cancer with her?"
"Yes."
"Since the beginning?"
"Yes."
She nods, silent for minutes, her mind racing, before her lips curl in a bitter smile. "Did you two mock me? Joke about how I'll bebald and titlesssoon?"
"No!" I yell too loudly. I'm horrified at her words. "No! God, Sophie, I love you, I would neve—"
"You love me?!"she mocks, a sob mixed with an incredulous laugh. "Oh, were you thinking about how much you loved me whilefucking her?"
"No, Sophie," I fall to my knees in front of her, gently grabbing her hands. Mercifully, she lets me hold them for a moment. "Please—please—believe me when I say I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen—"
Sophie shakes her head and pulls her hands from mine once more.
"How could I even believe you right now?"
I don't answer because I don't have one.
She takes a couple of breaths, sobbing through a few, as she paces back and forth. I take in the little details of our beloved apartment. Our combined touch is all over this space—the marshmallow-scented candles she loves on the coffee table, our various little knick-knacks from our road trips decorating the bookshelves, the little knitted bespectacled cat I bought her atthe Harvest Festival last year, and our graduation picture on the wall by the dining table.
These little details, physical manifestations of our six years, both devastate and comfort me in this moment.
Sophie abruptly stops pacing and looks me dead in my face.
"You confided in her about my cancer. This woman you talked about all the time, a'work colleague'you said."
Each word hits like a physical blow.
"Yes," I admit with a nod, rising from the floor because I already feel pathetic enough.
"And you told her all about your fears—fears I didn't evenknowexisted because every time I asked how you were doing with this, how you were feeling, what did you say?"
I hesitate, the words burning like acid in my throat, but she doesn't let me have it. She just snarls through gritted teeth,"What did you say, Paul?"
I meet her eyes and admit, "That I'm okay. That I'm just concerned about you. That I'm here for you, and that we'll get through this together."
She nods, "Lies, then?"
"I just… I didn't want to worry you more. You were already facing so much—"
"So, you just decided for me? Am I that fragile that you couldn't be honest with me?"
"No, Sophie, you're the strongest woman I know."
"Thenwhy?Why talk to her? Why would you talk to her about your fears and not me? Or even your friends? Your mom? Your dad? Literally anyone!"
