Chapter 70

Chapter 70
Chapter 70
SOPHIA

"Mama!" Adam's face lit up when I entered his room. He was building something with the Legos Lucas had bought him. "Look what I made! It's a truck!"
"It's beautiful, baby." I sat down beside him, forcing enthusiasm I didn't feel. "You're so creative."
"Where's Papa? I want to show him too."
"Papa's at work. But he'll be home soon."
Would he? Or would he stay at the office with Sofia, making sure she was safe, proving once again that she took priority over his family?
"Mama, why are you sad?" Adam's small hand found mine. "Did something hurt?"
"No, baby. I'm not sad. Just tired."
"You're always tired now." His blue eyes were too perceptive. "Is it because of Papa?"
My throat went tight. "What do you mean?"
"You and Papa seem sad sometimes. Like you're not happy together." He went back to his Legos, his voice casual but his words cutting. "Are you going to stop being married? Is Papa going to go away?"
"No!" The denial came fierce and immediate. "Adam, no. Papa's not going anywhere. We're a family. That's not going to change."
"Okay." But he didn't sound convinced. "I just don't want Papa to leave like our daddy did."
Our daddy who'd died before Adam was even born. Who Adam had never known except through photos and stories. And now my baby was worried about losing another father figure because he could sense the tension between Lucas and me.
I pulled Adam into my arms and held him tight. "Papa loves you. So much. And he's not going anywhere. I promise."
I could promise that, at least. Whatever happened between Lucas and me, he'd made it clear that Adam was his son. That commitment, that love—it was real. Even if his feelings for me weren't.
"I love you, Mama," Adam mumbled against my shoulder.
"I love you too, baby. So much."
We sat like that for a long time, me holding my son and trying not to think about his father—his papa—comforting another woman in his office. Trying not to acknowledge that I'd seen my husband care more openly for someone else than he'd ever cared for me.
By the time I put Adam down for his afternoon nap, my phone had accumulated a dozen missed calls from Lucas and twice as many text messages. I scrolled through them with detached interest, like I was reading about someone else's life.
Sophia, please answer. Let me explain.
What you saw wasn't what you think.
Sofia is being stalked. I was comforting her. That's all.
Please come back. Or let me come home. We need to talk.
I love you. Please don't shut me out.
That last one made me laugh bitterly. Don't shut him out? Like I was the one creating distance? Like I was the one choosing someone else over him?
I typed out a response: I'm fine. Just needed some air. We'll talk when you get home.
His reply was immediate: I'm coming home now.
No. Finish your work. I'll see you tonight.
I turned off my phone again before he could argue.
Martha found me in the living room an hour later, staring out the window at the city below without really seeing it.
"Mrs. Davenport, can I get you anything? Tea? Something to eat?"
"No, thank you."
She hesitated. "Mr. Davenport called again. He wanted me to make sure you were alright. He seemed very concerned."
"I'm fine."
"Are you?" Her voice was gentle. "Because you don't seem fine, dear."
I turned to look at her—this woman who'd been with Lucas for years, who'd seen him through relationships and breakups and everything in between. Who knew him in ways I never would.
"Martha, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Has Lucas ever..." I stopped, trying to figure out how to phrase this. "Has he ever been in love before? Really in love?"
Martha's expression grew carefully neutral. "That's not really my place to say, Mrs. Davenport."
"Please. I need to know."
She sighed, sitting down beside me. "Mr. Davenport has always been very private about his feelings. There were women before you, yes. But I never saw him look at any of them the way he looks at you."
"How does he look at me?"
"Like you're everything." She took my hand. "Mrs. Davenport—Sophia—whatever happened today, whatever you saw, I can promise you this: that man loves you. I've worked for him for eight years, and I've never seen him this happy, this content, this at peace. You've changed his life."
Her words were kind. Well-meaning. But they didn't match what I'd witnessed. Didn't explain the tenderness Lucas had shown Sofia, the fierce protectiveness, the raw emotion.
"Thank you, Martha," I said anyway. "I appreciate that."
She left me alone again, and I went back to staring out the window, waiting for Lucas to come home so we could have whatever conversation needed to happen.
Waiting to hear him explain why another woman mattered enough to warrant that kind of care while I—his wife, the mother of his son—got notes on pillows and vague promises.
Waiting to understand exactly where I stood in Lucas Davenport's life.
And terrified of the answer.
Because I already knew, didn't I? Had always known, deep down.
I was convenient. Sofia was important.
And no amount of pretending otherwise was going to change that fundamental truth.
The pill I'd taken sat heavy in my stomach—both literally and metaphorically. Evidence that I'd given up. That I'd stopped hoping for something real and started protecting myself from the inevitable heartbreak.
It was the smart choice. The rational choice. The choice that any sensible woman would make.
So why did it feel like I'd just lost something precious?
Why did it feel like giving up?
Why did it feel like the beginning of the end?