19. Sophia
NINETEEN
SOPHIA
I t has been a week since we got back home, and it has been an eventful few days, to say the least. I got an earful from my mom and Jenny for not calling more, for picking up and leaving without telling them where I was going or how long I’d be gone. Even though Maxim did his best to message them, I knew I was going to hear it when I got back. My mom eventually got over it, and we started talking about the trip. Maxim had told them what he told me, so I was prepared with my own version of the story for the first half of my disappearance.
I turn the key in the lock and push the door open, stepping inside. I shut it behind me before flicking on the light. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the center of the room. I look around at the clinic’s light gray walls, the front desk, the chairs lined up against the lobby walls. Everything looks the same as when I left it. I thought it would feel different. I sigh. I don’t know what I was expecting. An office filled with inanimate objects can’t change just because you do.
It feels bittersweet standing here. I was supposed to return to work on Monday, but it felt impossible. I barely managed to take a shower that morning before I changed my mind and crawled back into bed, where Maxim held me for hours as I cried, yelled, and eventually slept. It was an emotional day. By Tuesday, I had managed to walk to the front door; Wednesday, I stepped outside; Thursday, I walked to my car and sat inside. Friday, I turned the engine on and drove halfway before turning back. Today, Saturday, I actually made it here. It’s an accomplishment, even if the clinic is closed.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text, and I already know who it is before I even open it. A soft smile tugs at my lips as I read his message.
This bed feels cold without you next to me, krasavitsa. But I’m proud of you for overcoming your fear and making it to the clinic.
Stalker.
I don’t know how I feel about Maxim having my location on his phone. In one way, I feel safer, but at the same time, I feel like I have no privacy. He told me the other night that he gave himself access to my location to calm his panic when I’m not around. But there’s a part of me that suspects that was just an excuse. Maybe the real reason is to feed into his controlling, possessive tendencies.
Since we’re stating facts today, here’s mine: I love you so fucking much, krasavitsa.
I chuckle, shaking my head at his comment.
You’re an idiot.
\I’m whatever you want me to be, my princess.
The butterflies in my stomach stir, their wings threatening to take flight. God, this man knows how to make my heart skip a beat.
I have to take care of a few things today. I’ll pick you up at four on the dot at the clinic. Don’t you dare leave without me.
And just like that, the mood shifts. Even through a text, I can sense his change. The carefree, funny Maxim is replaced with the demanding mafia boss persona. This was bound to happen. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Maybe it’s because he has been so different over the past week—back to work and not doing or saying anything remotely controlling or disrespectful. I guess I assumed things had changed.
But now, I’m left wondering: Did something happen? His mood shifted in an instant. No. I refuse to make excuses for him.
Yeah, no. That’s not happening. I’m your girlfriend, not your employee. You can’t boss me around. When I’m done with what I need to do here today, I’m getting in my car and going home.
With a roll of my eyes, I stuff my phone back into my pocket, ignoring the constant beeps of incoming messages. I head to my office and sit down. I take a moment, just looking around the room. The shelves are filled with pictures of me and my family, posters of medical procedures, figurines patients gave to my dad and me over the years. This place—this space that used to feel like heaven, a sanctuary from my problems—now feels like it’s closing in on me. All the memories here are crumbling.
If I’m being honest with myself, I never really wanted to take over my father’s practice or become a family doctor. What I love, what makes me feel alive, is the rush and adrenaline of trauma. That’s what my specialty was—trauma surgery. But after my father died, I felt a deep, heavy responsibility to keep this place alive. So, I pushed my true desires aside, quit my job, and came here. I’m not sure if it’s the trauma I faced, but returning after weeks of absence is stirring up all these feelings I’ve buried for so long—the resentment, the confusion, the guilt.
A tear slips down my cheek before I even realize I’m crying. Why am I crying? Is it because I’m finally admitting I don’t want to keep living a life for my dad and not for myself? Or is it because everything in my life feels like it’s crumbling around me? Or maybe it’s because I’m afraid of disappointing my father?
The thought hits me like a punch to the gut.
You’ll disappoint your father.
The voice in my head screams at me. But will I? Will I really disappoint him? I take a shaky breath, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. My dad always told me to follow my heart, to trust it. He knew where my heart was leading me.
A memory tugs at the edges of my mind, pulling me back. The night my sister told me my dad left the clinic in my name. Mom and I were so destroyed, we couldn’t even get out of bed for the reading of the will. Jenny had to go by herself.
The door creaks open, and Jenny’s silhouette slowly approaches. Mom and I are sitting together, both lost in our own grief. It has been a hell of a few days. I still can’t believe Dad’s gone. He was fine that morning. We had our usual conversation on the way to work, but by the afternoon, I got a call from Mom saying he’d had a heart attack. By the time the rescue team arrived, it was too late. It felt like the ground opened beneath me, swallowing me whole. I was frozen, unable to move.
I took the first flight back to Miami to help Jenny plan the memorial and the funeral. The least I could do was that. But when I saw Dad’s body, it was like my mind just shut down. Everything—everything—came crashing in. I was walking through the motions, getting on the plane, coming home, but when I saw him…it was like reality slapped me awake.
And I couldn’t be there for Mom. I couldn’t even be there for myself. Jenny had to take the lead, had to be the strong one. She had to step up into the older sister role. Normally, that’s me. I’m the strong one, the one everyone counts on. But not with this. I can’t process it. I couldn’t manage.
All that keeps repeating in my head is: He died. He’s gone.
The one person in this world who always defended me, who was always there for me, is gone. No more hugs that make me feel loved, no more superhero movie marathons, no more random phone calls just to talk about nonsense. My person, my best friend, is gone.
I feel like a piece of me has been ripped out of my chest.
“Papi left the clinic to you, Sophia. His wish was for you to take over for him.”
I rear back in shock. This is the second time today I’ve felt like my world is crumbling. Dad wants me to take over as a primary care doctor. I want to fight it, say no, and just go back to New York. My mouth opens to protest, but a resounding “okay” slips out instead. If this is what he wanted, who am I to taint his decision? I’m already licensed to practice in Florida, there wouldn't be an issue for me to take over.
As much as my conscience wants to attack me, to make me feel guilty, I know deep down, my dad wouldn’t have wanted me to feel this way. He wasn’t the type to hold grudges or to be disappointed. If he truly wanted me to take over, he would’ve understood if I said no. Being here, chained to this place, trying to become my father’s successor—it’s never where I thought I’d be at this stage of my life.
I exhale a long breath. This is all messed up. I wish he was here to tell me what to do, to at least offer me some advice that would make this decision easier, something that would help me feel less guilty for what I’m planning to do.
Turning on my computer, I dive into work, trying to focus on something other than the chaos swirling in my mind. I haven’t been here in months, not since the kidnapping, my recovery, and then the trip with Maxim. I need to go through the schedule for next week and review the patients’ last notes. I need to know when they were last seen and what Dr. Jimenez wrote.
Dr. Carlos Jimenez has been working alongside my dad for years. When Dad started this practice, Carlos came on board just a year later. He has been an essential part of the team, seeing patients at the hospital three times a week then here for our busiest days. He’s an amazing doctor, and when Maxim told me Maria, my medical assistant, had coordinated everything so he could take over in my absence, I felt a wave of relief. Carlos knows this practice, and these patients, inside and out.
An idea begins to form in my mind. I just need to find my dad’s will—and the deed to this place.
“What part of waiting for me in the clinic did you not understand, Sophia?” Maxim’s voice echoes across the living room, cutting through the bathroom where I’m standing under the shower. I knew he’d be upset. I didn’t answer his messages or follow his order, but did he really expect me to fall in line just like that? I’m not some soldier.
The door slams open, and I freeze. The sound cuts through me sharply. My hands tremble, and the shampoo bottle slips from my grip, crashing to the floor. My heart races in my chest, and for a split second, I’m back in that place—the cold, dark room where the air never felt right.
You’re not there anymore, Sophia. It’s okay. You’re safe.
I repeat the words in my mind, but the panic rises quickly. I feel the old fear creeping up, tightening around my chest. I can barely catch my breath.
Breathe. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re free.
I close my eyes, fighting the feeling that’s rising inside me, but it’s not enough. I can’t shake it. My body starts to tremble, and I know I’m on the edge of something I can’t control.
Then, I feel him—his arms wrapping around me from behind, pulling me close, and I relax just slightly. His warmth is grounding, steadying me. For a moment, I just lean into him, trying to breathe again.
“I’m sorry,” Maxim says, his voice low, filled with guilt. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” I can feel the sincerity in his words, but it’s not his anger that has thrown me off. It’s the sound of that door slamming open—like I’m back in a place I can’t forget.
“It’s not you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “It’s…the door. When it slammed, it—it reminded me of…”
Maxim’s grip tightens, and he pulls me closer, his chest against my back. I feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, his voice soft. “I never want to make you feel like that. Never.”
I nod, tears stinging my eyes, but I don’t want to cry. Not now. Not with him here, trying so hard to make this right. I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and I let that be my anchor.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I just…need a minute.”
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me, and I can see the concern in his eyes. He’s still apologizing without saying the words. But it’s okay. I know he didn’t mean to trigger those old fears.
“I’m here, Sophia,” he says gently. “You’re safe with me. I’ll make sure you never feel like that again.”
I close my eyes, letting his words settle in. His warmth, his presence—it’s enough to remind me I’m not there anymore. I’m here, and he’s with me, and that’s all I need right now.
It doesn’t take long for my heartbeat to return to normal, for the tight knot in my chest to loosen. “I’m sorry, Sophia.” He presses soft kisses to my forehead. I nod in acknowledgment but don’t accept the apology. It’s not okay for him to treat me like that.
“I’ll try to change,” he adds, pulling back to take my chin gently in his fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’m trying to change for you. I’m truly trying. But it’s not easy when all I want to do is protect you.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not an excuse, but I got some news today and I spiraled.”
“What happened?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation.
“Nothing to worry about.” His tone is tight, and I can’t help but narrow my eyes.
“Why are you trying to keep me in the dark? I’m supposed to be the person you talk to, the one you unload your problems onto. You want me to do the same for you, right? So it’s only fair I get the same from you.”
He lowers his hands, frustration radiating off him. “I know that, Sophia. I fucking know. But I wish I could open up to you, talk to you. It’s just…hard for me.” He begins to pace, his voice strained. “It has always been me looking after me. My problems are my own. I don’t want to unload them on you. You’re supposed to be my safe space, my happy space. When I come home to you, I want to leave my problems behind. I don’t want to taint you with them.”
“All you’re doing is letting your problems fester. I want you to unload everything onto me. If you had a shitty day, talk to me. I’ll listen. I can’t promise I’ll have all the answers, but I promise I’ll listen.”
He tilts his head back, letting out a heavy breath, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “You make it sound so easy, Sophia.”
“You’re making it sound hard, Maxim,” I say, exasperation creeping through. “We’ve had this conversation before. You know what I need—honesty, trust. That’s all.”
He lowers his gaze to meet mine, his eyes suddenly older, burdened by experiences I can’t imagine. “One step at a time?”
“One step at a time,” I agree, because that’s all we can do. Take things one step at a time. But just because I agree doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. He refused to let me go, fought to remain present in my life. And if I’m being honest, my life would be very dull without him. I love him with all my heart, and I won’t let something as simple as a lack of communication ruin the small bit of happiness we’ve managed to carve out for ourselves amid all the darkness.