Chapter 55
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
SOPHIE
Ihear him before I see him.
The banging on the door comes first. It’s loud, urgent, impossible to ignore. Mia’s already halfway there when I stumble into the hall, heart tripping over itself as if it’s trying to outrun my brain.
Mia peeks through the spyhole, sighs, then turns to me. “It’s him.”
My stomach flips. Not butterflies. Just sickness. Dread. Residual heartbreak curling around my ribs like a viper.
“Tell him to go,” I whisper.
She opens the door a crack.
Murphy’s voice floods the space. “Sophie. Please.”
Mia steps out into the hallway, holding the door firm behind her. “She needs space. You should go.”
“No.” His voice is thick. Raw. “I can’t. Not like this.”
“She saw the photos, Murph. What did you expect her to do?”
“I expected her to trust me!” he snaps, and then immediately backpedals. “No. I mean, I didn’t expect this. I didn’t know Chloe would be there, I didn’t know there’d be cameras. I didn’t even touch her.”
Mia’s voice sharpens. “Didn’t touch her? Mate, she was draped over you like a scarf. There’s a picture of her kissing your cheek as if it’s her damn job!”
“She did that. I didn’t ask her to. I tried to back off, I swear to God. I told her it wasn’t a good idea, but she just kept going. And then the cameras were everywhere, and…”
“And you just stood there,” Mia hisses. “Letting the whole world think she had a shot. Letting Sophie think…”
“I would never cheat on her.”
“Then why didn’t you leave? Why didn’t you call her the second it happened instead of letting her find out online like everyone else?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Murphy’s voice cracks at the edges. “Because I was scared. Because I knew what it looked like, even if it wasn’t real. And I didn’t know how to fix it.”
Inside, I crumble a little.
Mia’s voice softens, barely. “You hurt her. She trusted you, and you made her feel like just another headline.”
“I know.”
“She’s not like those other girls, Murph. She’s not here for the glitz. She’s here for you, or at least, she was.”
He sounds like he’s choking. “Please. Just let me talk to her.”
“She doesn’t owe you that.”
“I love her.”
I feel something give way in me.
Mia sighs and steps back inside, but she leaves the door unlocked.
Still, he keeps going. “I love you, Soph. I love you and I miss you and if I could take back every second of that night, I would.”
I walk to the closet. My movements feel slow, numb. I pull out the bin liner I packed this morning, the one with his hoodie, his trainers, his stupid novelty socks. Everything that felt like him.
I open the door.
He looks like hell. His eyes are rimmed red, hair a mess, jaw tight. He opens his mouth, but I thrust the bag at him before he can say a word.
“Sophie,”
“You said five minutes. That was five minutes. We’re done.”
He stares at me, stunned. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” I say, voice trembling. “Because if I don’t, I’ll let you talk your way out of it. I’ll believe you. And I’ll end up here again, next time someone decides to throw herself at you for the cameras.”
His voice breaks. “There won’t be a next time. I’ll never let anyone do that again. I swear to you.”
“But you did. That’s the point.”
He takes the bag slowly. As though it’s filled with glass.
“I was picking paint colours,” I whisper. “For the flat. We were supposed to move in together.”
He sways a little on his feet. “I wanted that too. I still do.”
“Then why didn’t you act like it?”
He doesn’t have an answer. There’s just pain in his eyes. Real, raw, wrecked.
“I can’t do this,” I say. “I can’t keep wondering if I’m enough.”
“You’re everything,” he says hoarsely. “You’re it for me. I messed up, but please don’t throw us away.”
Tears slip down my cheeks. “You already did.”
I step back and shut the door.
This time, he doesn’t knock again.
He just stands there.
Holding the pieces of us in a plastic bag.
Mia finds me in the kitchen a few minutes later, sitting on the cold tiles with my back against the cupboard doors, the sink dripping steadily in the background. My arms are wrapped around my knees, and I don’t even realise I’m crying until she crouches beside me and wipes a tear off my cheek.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Breathe.”
“I can’t,” I say, and my voice breaks completely. “I can’t believe this is happening. We were planning our life.”
Mia pulls me into a hug, and I collapse into her. I sob like I haven’t since I was a kid, loud and broken and gasping.
“I loved him,” I say into her shoulder. “God, Mia, I love him. And I hate that I still do.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “I know, Soph.”
“We picked out a bloody sofa together. I was going to surprise him with prints of his stupid away-game photos for the hallway. I thought we were solid.”
“You were,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean you have to accept less than you deserve.”
“I didn’t even care about the fame stuff,” I whisper. “The parties, the photos. I just wanted him. But maybe he doesn’t know how to just be someone’s person.”
Mia doesn’t say anything for a while. She just holds me and lets me fall apart.
Eventually, the sobs slow, and I’m left with a headache and a hollow space in my chest where hope used to live.
“I hate that the worst part isn’t losing him,” I say. “It’s losing the version of him I thought I knew.”
Mia hugs me tighter. “That’s the part that hurts the most.”
And for the first time since the photos surfaced, I let myself fall apart properly.
I let myself mourn us.