"Are you in love with Grant, Sophia?"
The question follows me home, echoing in my head as I walk through my beautiful, empty house—the house I originally bought while imagining cozy movie nights, Sunday brunches, family dinners, and lazy mornings. Now it just feels empty and lonely.
My gaze catches on a picture Hazel made for me, the one I hung this morning so she would see it. It pulls me back to what it might feel like to have a family—how real it felt, how possible.
But maybe that's the problem. Maybe I let myself believe in something that was never meant to last.
I pick up my phone one last time, and my thumb hovers over Grant's name. There are a dozen things I could say, a hundred ways to fight for this. Instead, I set the phone down and go to bed.
Sometimes, the kindest thing you can do for someone is to let them go before they have to ask you to leave.
forty-two
. . .
Grant
My office feels colderthan usual. Or maybe that's just me.
I watch Sophia settle into the chair across from me, noting the careful way she arranges herself—professional, composed, distant. Gone is the woman who'd curl up in my office chair with her feet tucked under her while we discussed production scenes forSurvivor.
"Vancouver?" I keep my voice neutral, though the word feels like gravel in my throat.
"Eight-episode limited series." She smooths her already-perfect hair—a tell, I've learned, that means she's nervous. "It's with Netflix. Good script, talented team."
"When do you leave?"
"Monday. Blair's finalizing the details." Her eyes finally meet mine for the first time since she walked in. "I think we both know this is for the best."
The rational part of me agrees—the part that remembers Hazel's tears, sees the strain around Sophia's eyes from theconstant camera flashes, and hears the whispers in board meetings. But the other part—the part that wakes up reaching for her in the night—that part is screaming.
"It was never supposed to be complicated," I say instead.
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "I don't regret our time together, Grant."
That stings. I want to reach for her hand, to pull her close and promise we'll figure it out. Instead, I straighten the papers on the table, a habit from a thousand other meetings where I've needed to maintain control.
"The post-production schedule?—"
"I've arranged everything," she says. "The team knows what they're doing. I'll be available remotely for any major decisions."
Professional. Practical. Perfect.
"Lucas will handle the press if needed," I say. "We can keep it simple—amicable parting, focus on respective careers. He'll make sure everyone knows your producer credit was earned."
"Grant." Something in her voice makes me look up. "I don't need you to protect me."
"I know."
And I do. She's the strongest person I've ever met.
A knock at the door saves me from saying anything more. Lucas steps in, and his expression shifts as he reads the room. "Sorry to interrupt. The streaming team is waiting for us."
"It's fine," Sophia says. "We're done here."
Her words are like a punch to my stomach.
She picks her bag off the floor as she stands,and then she walks toward Lucas. "Thank you so much for everything you did for us. I know we didn't make your job easy."
