Ch. 14: What the Heart Knows

If someone had told her a year ago that she would be standing here, she would have laughed.

For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. 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.

The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. "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. 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."

She thought of all the versions of herself she might have been, and wondered which one he saw.

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.

"You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen."

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