Ch. 7: The Photograph

He noticed her before she noticed him, which was usually how the worst trouble began.

"You shouldn't have come," she said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen."

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to.

"You shouldn't have come," she said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all.

She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more.

The past was not a place you could visit and leave unchanged. It followed you home.

Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. Money could buy a great many things, she had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all.

The door closed softly, but the sound of it stayed with her for a long time.