Chapter 24: TWENTY FOUR
SOPHIA
The next day...
Sunlight warms my arms like a soft blanket as Tess and I sit on an old park bench, surrounded by the rustle of leaves, the happy chatter of kids, and the occasional chirp of birds.
For once, everything feels still. Safe. Like we’ve stepped out of real life and into a memory.
It’s like being little again—before everything cracked. Before Mom died. Before Dad found the bottom of a bottle.
“Remember that time you flew off the slide at Hannigan’s Park?” I ask.
She laughs, tugging her hair aside to show a faint scar above her eyebrow. “Still got the proof. You shoved me down too hard.”
“You told me to! I was just following orders.”
“Mom lost her mind that day,” she grins, then suddenly lights up. “Guess what? I walked around the entire block yesterday. Alone. No panic attacks. No turning back.”
“You serious?” I beam. “Look at you now—sitting out here like you’ve never even met anxiety.”
She nods, her eyes going softer. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be here without you. This therapy stuff… it’s actually working.”
“I can tell,” I say, though something tight curls in my chest. I think of where the money’s come from—the help I haven’t explained yet.
“So,” she says, voice light, “where’s this mysterious husband of yours? The guy paying for all this? I haven’t even met him yet.”
“He’s out of town for a few days.” I glance down, picking at my fingernail. “When he gets back, he’s expecting an answer.”
“Answer to what?” she asks quietly, sensing the shift in the air.
“He offered me a way out,” I say, each word feeling heavier than the last. “Said I could leave if I wanted. He’d still cover your therapy. Said he’d get us a place in a nicer part of the city. Even said he’d pay for me to start school. I could finally study counseling… like I told Mom I would.”
She doesn’t say anything for a beat. Just looks at me, her gaze steady and searching, like she’s trying to see the war going on inside me.
“But… why would he do that?” she finally asks, cautious and confused. “Why make it so easy for you to go?”
“Maybe,” I say, the words sticking, “because it doesn’t matter to him if I stay.”
“Or maybe,” she offers, “it’s because he does care. Enough to let you choose. Maybe he thinks that’s what real love is—letting someone go if they want to go. No pressure. No guilt.”
I blink at her. “Why do you think that?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “What do you think love is?”
Her question slices through the haze of everything I’ve been avoiding.
I pause, thinking. Feeling. “I used to think love meant holding on tight. As tight as you could. Like if you let go, even a little… you’d lose everything.”
“Do you love him?” Tess asks, her voice barely a breath—like speaking louder might shatter whatever I’m holding together. “Do you actually want to hold on to him?”
“I do,” I murmur. “But…”
The word just hangs there. Loaded with all the hesitation I’ve never fully spoken out loud.
“If that’s real—if it’s love—then what else matters?” she says simply. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been that clear.
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “He’s hurt people, Tess. Badly. Just a few days ago, he hit a guy. Right in front of me. And not just a slap—he went full rage. Is that the kind of man I want raising kids with me?”
“You mean the rich-as-hell, sinfully hot guy you keep dreaming out loud about?” she teases, cocking an eyebrow. “And you’re thinking of letting that go?”
“Would you stay with someone who’s killed people?”
Her tone doesn’t change. “Depends. Who were they?”
“People who’ve done awful things,” I admit. “The kind that make your skin crawl.”
She gives a slow nod. “And you still care about him?”
“God, yes. But it’s like he’s got this split. There’s the version who makes me feel seen… and then there’s the version who could snap someone’s neck.”
“Maybe both are him,” she says, voice calm. “Most people aren’t just one thing. He might be soft with you and brutal with the world—and maybe both are true.”
She reaches for my hand and holds it, her voice warm but firm. “Just promise me whatever choice you make—it’s yours. Not because you feel like you owe him. Not because you’re afraid. You deserve something real. Something that makes you feel full.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected. I’ve been carrying this storm inside for so long.
“My heart’s screaming yes,” I admit, “but my brain’s waving all the red flags.”
She nods like she understands it too well. “Mom always said to listen to both—your head and your heart. They’re louder when they work together.”
Then she checks the time and raises a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to see Pamela at noon?”
“Crap,” I mutter, jumping up. “Totally lost track. Want me to walk you back?”
She smiles. “Nah. I think I’ll sit here a bit longer. Get some sun. I’m good, promise. And hey—maybe Pamela will help you sort through the mess.”
“Maybe.” I nod, already half-turning to leave. “See you soon?”
“Always.”