“You look terrible,” she says into my hair, not unkindly. “When’s the last time you actually slept?”
“Define sleep.” I don’t pull back yet because being held feels like the first good thing that’s happened all week. Her apartment smells like the expensive candle she always burns.
“More than three hours at a time.”
“Then probably a week ago,” I admit. “Maybe longer.”
She pulls back, keeping her hands on my shoulders.
“Okay,” she says firmly. “We’re getting coffee and breakfast, and then we’re figuring this out. Non-negotiable.”
I let her steer me back out the door, and we walk to her favorite coffee place a few blocks away, a cozy spot with exposed brick and mismatched chairs and lattes that cost too much but taste like they’re worth every penny.
The Saturday morning crowd is mellow, couples reading newspapers and solo patrons working on laptops, the kind of peaceful anonymity that only happens in cities where nobody knows your name or your business. We get our drinks and settle into a corner table with a plate of pastries between us, and Sophie sips her oat milk latte and waits. So I tell her everything.
I explain the whole tangled mess of my reasoning, the way I keep thinking about our parents’ divorce and how devastated we both were, how desperately we wished they would get back together. How I used to lie awake at night imagining Dad showing up at the door with flowers, Mom forgiving him, everything going back to the way it was before the affair shattered our family into pieces we’re still trying to reassemble.
“I don’t want Chloe to feel that way,” I tell Sophie. “Victoria showing up, wanting to move back, talking about regrets and second chances. What if stepping back gives Chloe a real shot at having her mom in her life? Isn’t that worth more than what I want?”
Sophie listens without interrupting, her own latte untouched, her expression shifting through various stages of concern and confusion and something that looks suspiciouslylike exasperation. When I finally run out of words, she picks up her cup, takes a long sip, and sets it down with a deliberateness that means she’s about to say something I won’t like.
“Emma,” she says slowly, “I love you. YouknowI love you. But what you just described is completely insane.”
“Soph—“ I start, but she holds up a hand.
“No, hear me out.” She leans forward, elbows on the table, and I can see she’s been holding this in since I started talking. “You’re pushing away a man who clearly adores you, who you clearly adore, because his ex-wife might still be into him and move back home.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” I say, but the words sound weak even to my own ears.
“Is it though?” Sophie raises an eyebrow, and I recognize that look from every argument we’ve ever had, the one that means she’s not going to let this go. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re projecting our parents’ situation onto something completely different. Dad cheated on Mom and destroyed our family. That’s not what’s happening here. Theo’s not the one who left. Victoria did. And you’ve decided that your job is to clear the path for her?”
I don’t have a good response to that. Hearing my logic repeated back to me from someone else’s mouth, it sounds less noble and more like what it probably is: self-sabotage dressed up as selflessness. Maybe my parent’s divorce affected me even more than I have ever realized. I wrap my hands tighter around my mug, wishing the warmth could reach the cold place that’s taken up residence in my chest.
“And even if Victoria does stick around,” Sophie continues, clearly on a roll now that she’s started, “that doesn’t mean Theo wants her back. You said yourself he told you he has no feelings for her. That he’s never been more sure of anything than he is about you. You’re blowing up your relationship based on a hypothetical that isn’t even real.”
I finally look up at her, and I can feel the tears threateningagain. She’s right. But knowing something and feeling it are two different things entirely, and right now I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something terrifying with no idea which direction is safe.
Sophie must see something shift in my expression, because her face softens. “Em, I get why this is scary. You’ve never been this serious about anyone. You’ve never had a relationship where a kid was involved, where walking away means losing more than just the guy. The stakes feel impossibly high, and your instinct is to protect yourself by leaving before you can be left. And I know you care about the kid and are trying to be thoughtful. I just don’t think you’re right on this one though.”
I blink hard, refusing to cry in public, refusing to be that person sobbing over a latte in a trendy coffee shop. “Ugh, I just don’t know. I wish this didn’t feel so complicated, or that I wasn’t making it so complicated. I don’t know if I’m more scared of being right, or being wrong. What if he takes this week to really think about it and decides I was right? “
“Then he’s an idiot,” Sophie says simply. “But I don’t think he’s an idiot. I think he’s probably sitting in Dark River right now, missing you just as much as you’re missing him, waiting for you to come to your senses.”
I want to believe her, but I feel as though I can’t see clearly what is right or wrong here. We end up spending the rest of Saturday together doing normal sister things that feel both comforting and strange given the circumstances.
Sophie doesn’t push about Theo and just gives me space to exist without constantly analyzing everything, and it helps. By the time we’re walking back to her apartment in the early evening, I feel slightly more human. Slightly less like I’m going to shake apart at the seams.
I can’t face returning to Dark River and my empty apartment, so I sleep over. We curl up in her bed like we used to when we were kids, talking into the night the way we always have, bouncing between updates about our lives and giggling atstupid memories and comfortable silences that don’t need to be filled. Eventually the conversation drifts to our family, because how can it not?
“Sloane’s pushing through more algorithm changes despite all the bad press,” Sophie says, picking at a thread on her comforter. “She finally backed off about trying to force us out once she realized she legally can’t, but she still has the votes to keep moving forward with all her engagement bullshit. If it’s up to her, this’ll end with two-year-olds spending six hours a day watching cereal commercials on our so-called educational apps.” She sighs. “Morgan and Erica are backing her up, same as always.”
I stare at the ceiling. I’ve been avoiding even thinking about KidStream and the upcoming board meeting, shoving it into some mental box.
“The big vote is coming up,” Sophie continues. “The one that decides everything. Unless we can get Erica or Morgan on our side, we’re screwed.”
Theo’s words from weeks ago drift through my mind, the conversation we had about my family, about caring from a distance versus actually showing up. About how sometimes the brave thing is being present even when it’s hard, even when you’re not sure it’ll make a difference.
“I’m thinking about coming,” I tell her, surprising myself as much as her. “To the vote, I mean. I know our shares alone won’t change anything, but maybe if I’m actually there, face to face with Erica and Morgan, I can make them listen. Maybe they need to see that this matters enough for me to show up.”
