29. Sophia
TWENTY-NINE
SOPHIA
N ever would I have imagined I’d be learning something new about my dad at this point in my life, especially after his death. I’ve gone through two boxes full of junk Mom found scattered around the house. I’ve sifted through the four drawers of his desk and searched every cabinet in this room—and all I’ve managed to uncover is that my father was a hoarder. He still has homework assignments from his middle school years, for fuck’s sake. And don’t even get me started on the notebooks and loose papers from his medical school days. I let out a frustrated groan as I collapse onto the floor, lying on my stomach. This was a dead end. A total fucking dead end. I should have just asked Mom. She probably moved all of Dad’s important documents to a safer location.
Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and dial my mom. She answers on the third ring.
“Hola, hija. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Hi, Mami. No, that’s why I’m calling. Did you, by any chance, move Papi’s important documents somewhere else?”
“No, everything is as he left it.” I freeze. Then where the hell are they? I’m certain the deed for the clinic isn’t there. The only documents he kept at the clinic were his medical license, tax documents, and business permits—neatly organized and easy to find in case an inspector came asking. I thought he’d have everything else here at the house. He always seemed so meticulous and organized when he was alive. Clearly, I was wrong.
“The only time I went into his office was when I put the boxes in there.” Her voice cracks with the last word. A sniffle follows, and I feel like shit for asking her about this. I know how hard it is for her to talk about Dad. Why didn’t I just keep looking instead of giving up so easily? “Look in the attic. Your dad sometimes stored things up there. Maybe he put something there by mistake.”
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, my mind reeling.
I sigh. “Up to the attic, I go.”
But before I can get up, something catches my eye beneath Dad’s liquor cabinet. I shimmy closer for a better look, but it’s too narrow to see properly. Clicking on the flashlight on my phone, I aim it at the small gap. It’s something shiny, but I can’t quite tell what it is.
I lift myself off the floor and grab the edge of the cabinet, moving it out of the way. My brow furrows in confusion when I spot a laptop underneath. I don’t remember my dad ever having a laptop. He always preferred desktops. My chest tightens. Why do I get the feeling he was hiding this?
I lift the laptop and place it on his desk, pressing the power button. Nothing happens.
“Fuck, it’s out of battery.” Just my luck. I scan the room as if a charger will magically appear. There’s no point in looking for one here. I didn’t find one earlier, and I’m not going to find one now. Maybe I’ll have better luck in the attic.
Taking the laptop with me, I leave Dad’s office, making my way down the hallway and up the stairs. I pull the string to turn on the light and gasp at the sight before me. Boxes, stacked on top of one another, some so full that papers stick out of the sides. This place would have sent Mom into a frenzy. She would have gotten rid of these boxes ages ago. By the layers of dust, though, it’s clear she has never been up here.
I study the room again. I should help Mom by clearing out some of this junk. “You sure aren’t making this easy for me, Dad.” My throat tightens at the lack of a response. My stomach twists. What did I expect? It’s not like he’s going to communicate with me from beyond the grave.
I shake off the thought and begin digging through the boxes.
Hours seem to slip away. My hands and legs ache, but I don’t stop. Finally, I collapse against the wall, sitting on the floor, exhausted. I’m not sure how much time has passed since I started. I left my phone downstairs in Dad’s office, and now I can’t retrieve it, because I’m stuck up here. I remember too late that the attic door had a doorknob issue no one bothered to fix.
On the bright side, I haven’t completely wasted my time. Amid the junk, I found old drawings Jenny and I made when we were younger, report cards, Father’s Day cards we wrote to Dad, certificates, medals—hell, even the acceptance letters I got from the colleges I applied to. Our whole lives are here, in these boxes. Dad really did keep everything.
I’m thankful Mom never came up here. She would’ve just thrown it all out without a second thought. I found a medium-sized locked box I plan to break open later when I get home.
Then, just as I’m about to grab the box, I hear it.
“Sophia.”
Maxim? My heart skips a beat. What the fuck is he doing here?
“Sophia. Where are you?” The panic in his voice has me jumping to my feet, knocking a few boxes over in the process. I hurry to the stairs.
“I’m stuck in the attic!” I scream, jiggling the doorknob. His footsteps grow closer then stop. I hear him pulling on the door, but it doesn’t budge.
“I’m going to kick down the door. If you’re near it, I suggest you move back.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. Smart move, Sophia. “Give me a second.” I walk up the stairs, ensuring I’m well out of the way. “Go,” I call out loudly, hoping he can hear me. Even though I’m far from the door, my body still flinches at the sound of his footsteps.
Maxim charges up the stairs two steps at a time. “Are you okay? How the hell did you get stuck in here?” His hands gently cup my face, his eyes scanning every inch of me, looking for any sign of injury. When he’s satisfied I’m unharmed, his gaze drifts past me to the room. “And why does it look like an episode of Hoarders in here?” I snort a laugh. He has no idea how true that is.
“What’s so funny?” He raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“My dad was an actual hoarder. You have no idea how much junk I’ve had to go through.”
“Did you at least find what you were looking for?” My smile fades, replaced by a deep sigh. Shit. I forgot about the deed for the clinic. I was so wrapped up in the memories, I completely lost focus.
By the look on my face, Maxim can tell immediately. “By the look on your face, I can safely say you didn’t find it.”
I shake my head, huffing out a breath. “No, I didn’t.” I hesitate before finally deciding to tell him the truth. “I’ve been forcing myself not to ask, but my curiosity can’t take it anymore. What exactly are you looking for? Maybe I missed something. You know what they say—four eyes are better than two.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You really think I can help?”
I nod. “Maybe. Besides, I was planning on telling you eventually. Might as well get it over with.” I take a breath then finally say the words I’ve been holding back. “I’m looking for the deed to the clinic.”
Maxim’s face tightens, his brow furrowing slightly. He hesitates for a heartbeat. “Why?”
“To take it to the lawyers…and sell the practice.” There. It’s out now. The weight of the words feels strangely freeing. My shoulders slump, and I feel a mixture of relief and guilt.
He tilts his head, his expression confused. “You’re going to sell the practice? Your dad’s practice?” His voice is slow, almost as if he’s trying to process it.
I cross my arms over my chest, defensive. “Yes, that’s what I’m planning to do.”
Maxim raises his hands and palms outward, as if to calm me down, then steps closer, closing the space I created. “No need to get defensive, krasavitsa,” he says, his tone soft. “I didn’t mean anything by my question. You just caught me off guard.”
I uncross my arms, but I still feel tense. “Why are you going to sell the practice? You love that place.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand,” I say, my voice shaky. I try to walk past him, but he extends his arm in front of me, blocking my path.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “I keep asking the wrong questions. Please…tell me what’s going on inside that beautiful head of yours.” His eyes plead with me, and I can see the concern written all over his face.
With a heavy sigh, I lower myself to the stairs, sitting down with my back against the wall. He mirrors my movement, sitting beside me. “I never wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps,” I admit. “That’s why I left for New York. The clinic was his baby, not mine. But when he died…I felt responsible for it.” A tear slips down my cheek. “I kept thinking about keeping his memory alive, trying to make him proud from beyond the grave, and eventually, all of my dreams got buried under the weight of it all.” I bury my face in my palms, a sob escaping before I can stop it. “No one’s to blame for how I’m feeling…except me.”
Maxim leans in, his body pressing against mine, and I feel an overwhelming sense of comfort just from being near him. The reassurance and strength he gives off by merely being close is almost too much to handle. I lean into his touch, resting my head on his shoulder, letting myself savor the rare moment of peace in this chaotic situation.
“Do you have any idea what you want to do after you sell?”
I shake my head slowly. “I’m not sure what my next step will be, but one thing I’m a hundred percent sure of is that the unknown doesn’t scare me anymore like it used to. On the contrary, I feel free when I think of all the options I have.”
Maxim pulls me closer with a soft, reassuring arm around my shoulders. I close my eyes, breathing in deeply, letting the comforting scent of whiskey and mint calm my racing thoughts.
“You know what I believe?” His voice is lighter than I’ve heard in a while, a warmth in it I haven’t felt from him for some time.
“What?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, enjoying the feel of his hand gently caressing my head.
“Whatever step you decide to take next, I’m positive your dad would be proud of you, no matter what.”
My chest tightens, swelling with emotion I hadn’t been ready for. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear those words until now. It doesn’t erase the gnawing guilt that still lingers, but it makes space for something lighter, something like hope.
I lift my head, meeting his eyes, a warm smile tugging at my lips. “Thank you.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “No need to thank me, babe.”
My heart flutters at the sound of that word, the softness of his voice. God, I feel like a teenager in love for the first time.
We sit there like that for what feels like hours, my head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around me, but the silence is slowly eating at me. I’ve been building up the courage to speak, to say what’s been weighing on me, but I don’t know where to even begin. There’s so much, and I feel trapped in it.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, please,” he murmurs, his voice so low, I almost miss it, like a quiet plea.
I exhale deeply, the words stuck in my throat. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Don’t think. Just blurt it out.”
“How was your meeting today?”
His shoulders sag. “Horrible,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I sit up slightly, trying to catch his gaze, but he’s staring at the ground, his expression haunted. “I thought I was going to get arrested right there.” His words are heavy with a gravity that pulls at my chest. “The new Chief of Police and his DEA buddy are out for blood. They’ve convinced themselves I’m the one who killed Mario—the previous Chief of Police.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“They’re refusing to believe me. I had to call Luca to send me the security footage from Mario’s house the day he died.” The realization hits me—this must have happened while I was recovering at Luca’s house. I’ve been completely oblivious to the danger Maxim have been facing.
“Does that mean you’re off the hook?” I ask, my voice small and uncertain.
Maxim turns to face me, his eyes dark with something I can’t quite place. “No. They still think I had something to do with it.”
A chill creeps down my spine. The look in his eyes isn’t just about the threat to his freedom—it’s deeper, more personal.
“What’s another target on your back?” I try to joke, my attempt to defuse the tension falling flat. The rage rolling off him is palpable.
He grabs my face gently, his eyes wide and intense. “Do you not understand the severity of this situation?” My mouth goes dry, his gaze pinning me in place. “This isn’t some random person I can easily deal with. These guys have power, Sophia. They could fabricate evidence or twist the truth, and no one will ever doubt them.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “But they’re cops. They took an oath to serve and protect.”
Maxim’s grip tightened on my face, his voice strained as he spoke with a cold edge I’ve never heard before. “Don’t be naive. They’ve got the power to ruin lives, and they won’t hesitate to do it if it suits their agenda.”
He laughs bitterly, his words sharp like a blade. “Power doesn’t care about oaths, Sophia. It corrupts everyone. Cops are no different, no matter what promises they make.” He spits out the word ‘oath’ like it’s something filthy.
I don’t need to think twice about it. He’s right. I’ve seen enough of the world to know power twists people. I’ve dealt with enough arrogant doctors who thought they were untouchable. But this feels different. This isn’t just about people abusing power—it’s about life and death.
“Do you have a plan?” My voice cracks just slightly, betraying the fear I’m trying so hard to control.
He shakes his head, his frustration palpable. “I don’t have a fucking clue.” His voice is low, guttural, as if he’s choking on its weight. He lets go of my face and leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his head as if the world might collapse if he doesn’t hold himself together. His body trembles with something deeper than just anger—something darker, something more dangerous. “I’m drowning, Sophia. I keep pushing and pushing, but I’m sinking. My legs are failing me. My arms won’t move. I’m stuck.”
I take a step forward, my heart breaking for him. My hand gently rubs his back, a silent offering of comfort, but it feels so small compared to the storm I can see building inside him. “We’ll figure this out. Together,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss the side of his head, hoping the soft touch will help ease some of the rage and fear inside him.
But he stands up abruptly, and it’s like the ground shifts beneath me. My stomach drops. Where is he going? I try to stand, but my muscles feel like they’re made of stone, like they won’t move. After a few tries, I finally force myself to stand and follow him.
I catch up to him as he paces, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. The look on his face is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. He’s a man on the edge—angry, lost, and broken. It’s terrifying. He kicks a chair violently out of his way, and its force makes me flinch, my breath hitching in my chest. This rage—this fury—feels like it could consume everything in its path, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I freeze, unsure of what to do. He’s like a cornered animal now, dangerous, unpredictable. Every movement feels like it might set him off. I take a deep breath, gathering what little courage I have, and take a step toward him. “Maxim Volkov,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. He turns to face me, his eyes wild with emotion, and for a split second, I wonder if he even sees me anymore. “Talk to me,” I say softly, but the plea is thick in my voice, the desperation raw.
He laughs, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s dark and jagged, like it’s scraping against the inside of his chest. “Talk to you?” He points at me, his finger trembling with the intensity of his frustration. “Talk to you?” He laughs again, but it’s bitter, hollow. “That’s rich, coming from you—the queen of fucking avoidance.”
I feel the sting of his words cut deep, deeper than I want to admit. They hit harder than I thought they would. My breath catches in my throat, my chest tightening as the weight of everything we’ve been through crashes down on me. He’s right. I’ve avoided him. I’ve shut him out when all he’s tried to do is protect me. I’ve pushed him away without even understanding what he’s carrying.
His finger jabs in the air as he continues. “All I’ve been trying to do is talk to you, Sophia. Trying to be honest. But every time I open up, you shut me out. You keep pushing me, forcing me to bury what I feel, and now—now you want me to open up to you?” He lets out a strangled laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
My shoulders sag, the weight of his words crushing me. I feel so small, so fucking stupid.
“Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk.” His words are a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down at my feet. The rawness in his voice rips through me, and I stand there, holding my breath, waiting for the storm to break.
He runs a hand over his face, his frustration boiling over. “Let’s start with the latest shit show, then. The DEA.” He holds up his finger like he’s numbering his grievances, and I can’t even find the words to interrupt. “It’s the last straw, Sophia. It’s like everything I’ve been trying to hold together is shattering. I don’t know how to fix this. How do I get out of this without dragging everyone I care about into the mess with me?” His voice cracks, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the vulnerability he has been hiding.
I open my mouth to say something, to tell him it’s not his job to protect everyone, that he doesn’t have to carry the weight of this alone, but before I can, he stops me with a look—a look that shatters me.
“Don’t you fucking dare say it, Sophia. Please. Don’t.” His voice is low, a plea wrapped in rage. I close my mouth immediately, my words dying before they leave my lips.
He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep himself under control. “Number two. I don’t use your trauma to justify my need to protect you. If you’d just fucking understand why I do this, maybe—maybe we wouldn’t be fighting about it all the time.” His hand fists into his hair, pulling as if it could release the pressure building in his chest. “But you don’t. You keep seeing it as me trying to control you. And yeah, maybe I do try to control things, but this—this has nothing to do with you. It’s about me. It’s about me not being able to protect you from the people I’ve seen destroy lives, people who would do anything to hurt you.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightens, and I can’t breathe. This whole time, I’ve blamed him for the way he acted, for the way he tried to protect me. But I never stopped to ask why he felt that way, why it mattered so much.
He meets my eyes, and the raw fear and pain I see there is enough to shatter me. “You don’t understand what it’s like, Sophia. These people—they’re not just criminals. They’re monsters. They don’t care about anything but power. If there’s more than one of them, they’ll rip you apart, and I won’t be able to stop it.”
My lungs tighten, the weight of his words suffocating me.
He takes a deep breath, his voice shaking as he continues, “Every time you accuse me of using your trauma to justify my obsession with keeping you safe, it feels like you’re driving a fucking knife into my heart. I’m doing this because I care about you. I care about you more than I care about anything else. So don’t you dare ever think that it’s about controlling you. It’s about protecting the one person I’m afraid to lose.”
I can’t speak. I can’t move. The guilt I feel is overwhelming and suffocating. I’ve been so focused on my own pain, on my own fears, that I never once considered how much fear he’s been carrying for me. I’ve made him feel like he’s in the wrong for loving me enough to want to protect me. I’ve blamed him when all he has done is try to keep me safe.
I lower my gaze, unable to look at him anymore, the weight of my failure too much to bear.
“The root cause of my overprotectiveness…it’s from the helplessness I felt while you were missing. From the constant guilt, I carry every single fucking day I couldn’t protect you. That I couldn’t save you.” His voice cracks, raw and fractured, before he sinks into the couch, elbows on his knees, his head hanging low, eyes glued to the ground, as if it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Can you even begin to imagine what he’s feeling?
I try, I really do, and as I picture myself in his shoes, a lump forms in my throat. The thought of losing him—the thought of him being in danger—feels like a brutal punch to my chest. It’s not just a thought. It’s vile. It’s a wave of nausea and fear, and it rips through me with the force of something I can’t control. If I could, I would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant keeping him in the dark.
“I’m torn between respecting your choice to be independent or completely betraying who I am at my core, everything I’ve ever stood for, just to keep you safe.” His words are strained, like they’re being dragged out of him against his will. “I’ve been living with this fucking promise I made to you, to always keep you safe. And no matter how many times you tell me you can take care of yourself, I can’t—I can’t—stop wanting to protect you. It’s not something I can switch off.”
His voice breaks, and I feel a tear slip down my cheek. He’s drowning in guilt, in pain, and I never noticed. I thought I was the one suffering, but he’s been carrying this burden in silence, taking it all on himself.
“You’re right. I’ve been pushing you away.” The words fall from my lips like poison, sharp and bitter. I had no idea how selfish I was being. I didn’t see it. All this time, I blamed him, not understanding that his need to protect me wasn’t about control—it was about healing. It was the only way he knew how to breathe.
“I’m not blaming you, Sophia,” he says like he can hear my thoughts. “Please, don’t blame yourself. I’m telling you this because we need to face this together. We can’t keep living like this.” His eyes pierce mine, and I can’t look away. “You’re my everything, Sophia. I love you more than anything, more than my own life, and that will never change. You’re my first instinct to protect. My first priority, my first choice.” He exhales shakily, and his voice drops, almost a whisper. “You knew from the start how selfish I am. I never lied about that.”
The word ‘selfish’ is far too small for what he’s really saying. Selfish doesn’t capture the depths of the pain he’s living with.
“You’ve made it clear you don’t want me to put you first,” he continues, his voice growing cold and guarded, but there’s something raw underneath it. “But you don’t get a fucking choice in that. I don’t get a choice. I can’t keep letting you make decisions for me when it comes to my heart.” He pauses, his chest rising and falling with every breath, and the silence presses in between us like a suffocating force. His gaze hardens, but then he lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I know. It sounds cheesy as hell, but it’s true. I’ve never lied about being the villain, Sophia, so stop seeing me as a hero. I’m never going to be. It’s you, always you. You over everyone. The fucking world could burn, and as long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters to me.”
Tears stream down my face uncontrollably. The weight of his words crashes over me, and I can’t breathe.
“You need to accept that I will never stop worrying about you, Sophia. I’ll never stop caring about your safety. It’s not in me to stop.” His footsteps are slow, deliberate, and they echo in the stillness of the room, matching the frantic beats of my heart. When he reaches me, his finger gently lifts my chin, and I look into his eyes, searching for something, anything, that could make me feel okay.
“I can’t promise you I’ll stop, but I can promise this,” he murmurs. “From now on, no more secrets. No more lies. You’ll have everything laid out on the table. No more keeping you in the dark. I’m putting everything on the line for you.” His voice cracks, and he lets out a long breath. “Forgive me, Sophia.”
Is this what I wanted?
Yes.
But is it enough?
No. A promise without actions is just words, and I’ve heard so many empty promises from him. He says he’ll keep me safe, but what if the only way he can do that is by keeping things from me? Is that the price of my safety? I’m not sure I can accept that.
I take a slow, shuddering breath. “No. I don’t forgive you.” The words feel like daggers in my throat, but they’re the truth, no matter how much they hurt.
His face crumples. He looks like I’ve just shattered him, and a part of me wants to take it back, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I see that he’s truly capable of change.
“You don’t forgive me?” His voice cracks, his pain so raw, it makes my chest tighten. I can’t look away, even though every part of me wants to break. I made this decision. I can’t back down.
“No. Not until you prove to me you can keep your promises. That you can really change. I need to see it.”
His eyes close for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. “You don’t trust me?”
I straighten my shoulders, trying to hold my ground. “Can you blame me?”
He shakes his head, his face twisted in regret. “No. No, I can’t.” A long exhale leaves him, the pain of it like a physical blow. “As much as it fucking sucks, I respect your decision. If the only way to earn your forgiveness is to prove myself, then that’s what I’ll do.”
I feel a weight lift from my chest, but it’s a bittersweet relief. I thought this would be harder—thought he would fight me. But he doesn’t. And that makes everything feel… complicated. He’s willing to fight for me, for us. And I have to believe he’s capable of change.
He reaches out, his voice softening. “Shall we start with the letters?”
“That sounds like a good start,” I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips. But inside, I know this is just the beginning. He has a long road ahead, and so do I. We both do. But maybe—just maybe—we can walk it together.