Sophie crying when we assembled a crib too early, then laughing because I had attached one side backward.
Sophie standing in the kitchen with flour on her cheek, insisting that pancakes counted as dinner.
Sophie asleep on the couch, one hand resting on her stomach during those brief weeks when we believed the future was arriving.
I had loved her.
I still loved her.
But love alone had not made me brave.
The following days became a quiet lesson in showing up.
I helped Linda coordinate appointments. I drove to Sophie’s apartment to collect clothes and discovered how small her new life had become. A one-bedroom unit with moving boxes still stacked against the wall. A plant dying on the windowsill. Bills arranged neatly beside a half-finished cup of tea.On her nightstand was a framed photo I recognized immediately.
Our wedding day.
Sophie had not removed it.
She had turned it facedown.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the back of the frame.
Then I gently left it exactly as I found it.
In the top drawer, while looking for the charger she had requested, I found a sealed envelope with my name on it.
Ethan.
My heart began to pound.
For several seconds, I held it in my hand, tempted by the weight of it.
Then I placed it back.
Whatever was inside belonged to Sophie until she chose otherwise.
When I returned to the hospital with her things, she noticed something in my face.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’ve always been terrible at nothing.”
I set the bag down.
“I went to your apartment.”
“I know. I asked you to.”
“Ifound an envelope.”
The room went still.
Her face changed.
“You read it?”
“No.”
She stared at me, searching for the lie.
There wasn’t one.
After a moment, she looked away.
“Thank you.”
“What is it?”
“A letter.”
“I figured that much.”
She almost smiled, but not quite.
“I wrote it after my first appointment with Dr. Keller.”
My pulse quickened.
“Before the divorce?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
