Ch. 10: The Letter

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

"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 he was watching without seeming to. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

"You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way he was watching without seeming to. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way he was watching without seeming 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."

Money could buy a great many things, he had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most. Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way he was watching without seeming to. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen."

The truth, when it finally came, was smaller and sharper than she had imagined.

Money could buy a great many things, he had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

She did not sleep that night. There was too much to lose, and far too much to want.