Chapter Thirty-One Paul #2
Only our breathing fills the small space—his calm, mine ragged—and I take a few moments to compose myself.
The last six months flash in front of my eyes like a horror movie.
The very beginning is good—me, Sophie, and our life together, but there's Elise's shadow in the background.
I think of our shared meals at work, our inside jokes, her teasing smiles, and how one day—without me fully realizing it—my eyes were lingering.
Abstract at first—Elise in bed, Elise's lips against mine, Elise's body, but I told myself it was harmless because I loved Sophie.
I was going to marry her, and attraction to someone else didn't mean anything.
I could never betray Sophie.
Then the lump, the day of the biopsy, when I lied to Sophie and went to Haunts with Elise. I lied because I knew Sophie would feel weird about it, me going out for drinks with a woman, especially after the day she had, so I said I was going with my friends.
I unloaded it all on Elise when I should have stayed with Sophie and told her how I felt. I should have stayed home and held my fiancée all night, comforting her instead of seeking my own comfort. I wanted to escape. I wanted control again. I wanted easy, light, and fun.
When I crossed that physical line at Haunts—because let's face it, I had already crossed the emotional line long before—it was for pleasure that felt good in the moment, but was ultimately fleeting and useless.
I felt entitled. I felt like the universe was taking and taking from me: my Sophie, her health, and—shamefully, I need to admit—her breasts.
That thought burns me whenever I think of it.
The most shameful realization of all is that everything came so easily to me. I never had to work for anything in my life, truly. So when I was about to face an actual battle, I was scared to lose.
I'm terrified of failing, and I failed anyway.
I am the biggest fucking fool on this planet.
"I realized that I had been growing closer to this woman at work.
Talking with her about personal things—my relationship with Sophie, the cancer, the fear, and anxiety.
I was having regular meals with her, working on projects together, and hanging out.
And I liked... I really liked the attention that this gorgeous woman was giving me.
Then I started thinking about the unfairness of it all—yes, Sophie having to deal with this, but worse, that I had to deal with this too.
I didn't sign up for this. I had never experienced anything like this before.
And I didn't think I could handle it. I was a coward. "
The truthful words shred like knives on their way out of my throat. Dr. Forseti said admitting the truth hurts because it's the first step in healing, like snapping a broken bone back into place. Painful, but necessary.
"I had an emotional affair before it became physical, and I had justified it by saying I loved Sophie, I wasn't crossing any real boundaries. I thought I had everything under control and that I was starting my life with the woman I love."
"But then life happened," Father Martin supplies gently, and it makes me jump a bit. I almost forgot he was there, so lost in my own reverie.
"I was terrified," I admit, the shame choking me.
"Things became serious when everything with Sophie was always just so.
.. easy. Then everything suddenly wasn't easy.
Our time together and conversations were full of doctor appointments, medical bills, insurance, and surgery.
I would have nightmares of her wasting away, of her changing, of her dying.
.. now I've lost her anyway. I deserve to have lost her, but. .."
"Fear can make us act out of character," Father Martin says, his voice like gravel softened by age. "But it doesn't excuse what we do."
"I don't want to use it as an excuse anymore," I say quietly. "I just want to fix it."
"Do you feel genuine remorse for what you did?"
"Yes," I answer before he's even done asking. "Every second of every day."
"Then you've taken the first small step."
It doesn't feel like a step; it feels like a stumble.
"Do you think I'm a good man, Father?" My voice cracks in half, desperation dripping from every syllable.
Father Martin takes a deep breath, "People are not inherently good or bad," he tells me, his voice firm, but compassionate. "There are only choices. It's why God gave us Free Will. Your choices—your sins—came from fear, pride, and pain. That's human, but so is repentance."
Tears sting my eyes. "Do you think she could ever forgive me? I regret it every second I breathe."
"Forgiveness is a gift, and you're not owed it.
She is within her rights not to ever forgive you, if her soul allows it.
But your redemption shouldn't be dependent on whether those you've wronged absolve you.
Because even if they do absolve you, things won't go back to the way they were, no matter how much you wish for them to. "
Those words are painful, another reminder that no matter what, no matter how hard I wish, how much I want it, no matter how many good deeds I do, I cannot turn back time to when things were perfect with Sophie.
"True redemption comes from change. Whether you seek to be good, regardless of whether anyone ever sees it or praises you for it."
"What do I do?"
"’He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?
’ Micah 6:8." He recites softly, before continuing.
"You must now humble yourself, and you must take responsibility.
If they allow it, go to those you've hurt.
Not to beg, but to own what you've done.
You can't live in shame forever. That's not repentance, that's self-pity.
And you must remember to change for yourself. "
"That's what she said," I murmur automatically, the words washing over me, and I feel comforted.
"Who?"
"My therapist," I clarify, rubbing the back of my neck. "She told me I had to change for myself, not anyone else."
He chuckles softly. "She sounds like a wise woman."
I nod, before I remember that he can't see me. "She is."
"Humility is a heavy thing to bear, but you must bear it all the same," Father Martin says, before taking a deep breath. "Now I will do my part: I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace."
"Thank you, Father," I say, once I complete the sign of the cross and stand up to walk out of the booth. I'm not quite sure how I feel right now. The air feels no lighter, my chest no freer—but something in me has quieted.
I walk out to the parking lot and pass Maureen, who asks, "Do you feel better?"
I don’t answer, I just give her a small smile.
◆◆◆
I feel like a teenager again, lying in bed and waiting for my parents to go to sleep so I can sneak into the office and use the computer past my bedtime.
The master bedroom door closes around eleven, and I wait until I can hear my dad's snoring through the walls before I move to sneak down to the office.
My mom uses earplugs at night so she won't hear me, and my dad sleeps like the dead.
The night had been nice—we had pizza and wings and watched playoff baseball in the living room like we always used to.
My mom was quiet, reclining in her chair with her Sudoku, while my dad and I watched the game and actually had a comfortable, easy conversation.
It felt normal in a way that made me cry a bit in the shower.
Today was just an emotionally draining day between confession and my therapy session. Dr. Forseti noted that I seemed more determined today, willing to share and actively listening, and I took that as a good thing.
But my curiosity was still bothering me, and I needed to know what my parents were looking at earlier. I know it's about Sophie and I just... I need to know anything I can about her. I won't be able to sleep if I don't find out.
It's as easy as it was when I was sixteen to get into my mom's laptop—her password is still our childhood dog's name, Lucky, and my birthday.
It opens up to an article, Bailey Banks On It, and the picture at the top makes my heart drop into my stomach.
It's Sophie.
My Sophie.
The photograph makes my chest cave in. She's standing in front of a bright mural splashed with pink ribbons and wildflowers, mid-laugh, one hand pushing her hair out of her face. She looks so beautiful dressed in that red sweater that I love, her lips painted that kissable red, and she looks...
She looks happy.
She looks so goddamn happy.
I scroll down and read the article, and my stomach twists with every line.
◆◆◆
Losing Everything, Finding It All: How Breast Cancer, Betrayal, and a Bookstore Led Me to the Life of My Dreams
Bailey Banks On It – Breast Cancer Awareness Month Edition featuring Sophie Bracken.
By Bailey Banks
It starts, as most life-changing stories do, with an ordinary day.
Sophie Bracken was getting dressed when she found it—an unfamiliar lump in her breast.
"I told myself it was probably just hormonal," she tells me now, sitting curled up on her couch with a mug of coffee steaming in her hands.
She's dressed in what she fondly calls her chemo uniform: an oversized University of North Carolina sweatshirt, soft black leggings, and fuzzy socks patterned with tiny kittens.
"Chemo makes you feel cold to your bones," she explains with a smile. "At this point, I'm all about maximum comfort and warmth."
On her head is the gorgeous wig from Crown Craft, owned by Sasha Graham (featured in our last article, link down below).
The wig gives her a lot of confidence, letting her look like herself again—a small way for her to reclaim her identity, as many women experience a loss of self-image when they experience hair loss from the treatment.