Chapter 69

Chapter 69
Chapter 69
SOPHIA
The containers slipped from my hands.
They hit the floor with a crash that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet hallway. Pasta sauce splattered across the polished tile, glass shards scattering everywhere, the carefully prepared meal I'd spent hours making reduced to garbage in an instant.
Lucas's head snapped toward the door, his eyes going wide when he saw me standing there.
"Sophia—"
But I was already backing away, my shoes crunching on broken glass, my vision blurring with tears I refused to let fall.
"I'm sorry," I managed. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just—I brought you lunch. But you're busy. I'll go."
"Sophia, wait—" Lucas started toward me, but I was already turning, already running.
I made it to the elevator and stabbed the button repeatedly, desperate to escape before he caught up to me. The doors opened with agonizing slowness, and I stumbled inside, pressing the lobby button over and over like that would make it go faster.
Just as the doors were closing, I saw Lucas burst into the hallway, his expression panicked.
"Sophia!"
But the doors closed, and I was alone, descending, my reflection in the mirrored walls showing exactly how broken I looked.
He'd hugged her. Right there in his office, where anyone could see. Had held her and comforted her and promised to keep her safe with an intensity that made it very clear she mattered to him.
I can't lose you. You're important to me.
When had he ever said those words to me? When had he ever looked at me with that kind of fierce protectiveness?
He'd said he loved me, sure. In the dark. In bed. In moments that could easily be dismissed as pillow talk or performance. But this—this raw emotion I'd witnessed with Sofia—this was real.
The elevator reached the lobby, and I walked out with my head high, refusing to let anyone see me cry. Luke was waiting by the car, and his expression shifted to concern when he saw me.
"Mrs. Davenport? Is everything alright?"
"Fine. Just ready to go home."
I climbed into the back seat and stared out the window while Luke navigated through Saturday traffic. My phone was buzzing in my purse—Lucas calling, probably. Trying to explain or apologize or make excuses.
I ignored it.
What was there to explain? I'd seen what I'd seen. Heard what I'd heard. Lucas cared about Sofia. Maybe not romantically—I'd give him that much. But he cared about her in a way that made me feel secondary. Replaceable. Like the contract wife I'd always been.
The pills. I needed to take those damn pills.
The thought came unbidden, urgent. Because if I got pregnant now, if I tied myself to Lucas permanently while he was clearly attached to someone else, I'd be trapping us both in a miserable situation neither of us wanted.
When we got home, I went straight to the bedroom, ignoring Martha's questions about whether Mr. Davenport had enjoyed his lunch. I locked the door, pulled out the pharmacy bag from my nightstand, and stared at the pills I'd been too scared to take.
No more fear. No more hope that this could be something it wasn't. Time to face reality and protect myself accordingly.
I popped the first pill out of the pack and swallowed it dry, the small action feeling momentous. Permanent. Like I was closing a door on possibilities I'd been too foolish to stop imagining.
My phone rang again. Lucas.
I declined the call and turned off my phone completely.
There was a knock at the bedroom door. "Sophia? Are you okay? Lucas is on the landline. He says it's urgent."
"Tell him I'm sleeping," I called back. "Tell him I'll call him later."
A pause. "Are you sure? He sounds very worried—"
"I'm sure."
I heard Martha's retreating footsteps and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I'd done the right thing. Taken the pill. Started protecting myself from consequences I couldn't handle.
So why did I feel like I'd just given up on something important?
My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air. This was supposed to be my happy ending. Adam was home and healthy. I was married to a good man who treated me well and never asked for more than I'd agreed to give. We had money and security and everything I'd been desperate for just weeks ago.
I should have been grateful. Should have been content with what I had instead of mourning what I'd never have.
But I couldn't stop seeing Lucas's face when he'd looked at Sofia. The tenderness. The fierce protectiveness. The raw emotion that said she mattered to him in ways I never would.
I can't lose you.
When would he say those words to me? Under what circumstances would Lucas Davenport fight that hard to keep me?
The answer was obvious: never. Because I wasn't Sofia. I was just the convenient solution to a problem. The wife he'd needed temporarily.
There was another knock. "Sophia? Adam is asking for you. Should I tell him you're resting?"
Adam. My baby. My reason for all of this.
I wiped my eyes and stood up, checking my reflection in the mirror. I looked wrecked—eyes red, face blotchy, hair a mess. But I plastered on a smile anyway and opened the door.
"I'm coming. Tell him I'll be right there."
Martha's expression was sympathetic, but she didn't press. Just nodded and headed back toward Adam's room.
I followed slowly, trying to pull myself together. Adam didn't need to see me like this. Didn't need to know that his mama was falling apart because she'd been stupid enough to fall in love with a man who'd never love her back.