Chapter 46
Claire
Sophie shows up at my apartment with two iced coffees and a look that tells me she’s been rehearsing an opinion she knows I won’t want to hear.
I brace myself before she even walks in the door.
She kicks her shoes off, curls up on my couch like it’s her house, and says, “Okay. We’re talking.”
I set my coffee on the table. “About what?”
She gives me a look. “Claire. Don’t be dense. Brandon.”
I sigh.
She takes a long, slow sip of her drink, eyes narrowed like she’s preparing to go into battle.
Then she sighs. “God, I hate that I’m about to say this. Truly. Because it kills me to agree with Ethan on anything. But…”
I blink. “But what?”
She winces, like the words physically hurt.
“Brandon isn’t it for you.”
The sentence sits between us.
I force a laugh. “Sophie, please. You barely tolerate your own husband. You’re not exactly the love expert.”
She waves a hand. “True. My husband is a walking garbage fire. The man flirts with anything alive, including the barista who’s fifty-two.”
I snort despite myself.
“But,” she continues, leaning forward, “he’s passionate. About me. About us. About… whatever version of marriage he thinks we have.”
“That’s not better,” I mutter.
“Maybe not. But it’s something.” She points her straw at me. “Brandon doesn’t even give you that. He doesn’t fight for you. He doesn’t choose you. Half the time I’m convinced he forgets you exist.”
“That’s not fair,” I say.
“Claire,” she says softly, “he treats his job like the wife. You’re the mistress.”
I swallow.
Because I’ve thought that exact thing.
During dinners where he answered emails instead of speaking to me, during dates he cancelled last minute, during nights I spent alone while he claimed he was exhausted.
Sophie sees the reaction in my face.
Her expression softens.
“You deserve someone who wants you. Not someone you constantly have to beg for his time.”
My chest tightens.
“Ethan asked you something important,” she says quietly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear it.”
I know what that is:
Are you happy?
I close my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Ethan.”
“Then don’t,” she replies. “Just answer the question.”
I shake my head, trying to collect myself. “It’s not that simple, when he’s here everything is good.”
“It is.” Sophie’s voice is surprisingly gentle. “But that is very rare, and you’re lonely, Claire.”
I open my mouth to deny it.
Then shut it slowly.
Because I am.
Lonely in a relationship that looks stable on paper but feels like too much weight to carry on my own.
Lonely with a man who’s physically beside me but emotionally five steps away. Lonely in ways I didn’t know were possible with someone who’s supposed to care.
I stare at my hands. “I don’t want to be the only one fighting for us.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Sophie says. “But stability isn’t supposed to feel like abandonment.”
I feel the words like a splinter under my skin. Like a truth I’ve been avoiding finally catching up to me.
Are you happy?
The question sits like a stone on my chest.
Sophie watches me carefully. “You don’t have to answer me. But you should answer yourself.”
I press my palms to my eyes, swallowing against the sting building there. Because I know the truth. I just haven’t said it out loud.
I am not happy.
Not even close.
And the worst part?
I can’t tell if I’m grieving the relationship I never really had, or the version of myself who thought this was all she deserved.
Sophie squeezes my knee. “You’re allowed to want more.”
My throat tightens.
For the first time, the walls I built around myself don’t feel protective.
They feel like a cage.
And the tiniest crack just got big enough to let the truth in.