CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
SOPHIA
“Goodnight, Jackson .”
The words hang in the air as I turn and walk away, not allowing myself to look back. I can feel his pain radiating behind me like a physical force, and a part of me…a small, vindictive part I’m not proud of…savors it. He deserves to hurt, at least a fraction of how much I’m hurting.
The cruelty of deliberately using his full name—that formal, unfamiliar name that represents the stranger he really was—has been calculated.
I’d wanted to wound him, to pierce that smooth composure, to make him feel the rupture between us.
Based on the stricken look that had flashed across his face, I’d succeeded.
I’m not proud of the impulse, but I can’t deny the momentary, hollow satisfaction it had brought.
The walk back to the guest house seems endless.
The night air is cool on my flushed cheeks, the sprawling estate grounds stretching before me in the darkness.
So much space, so much land, so much everything.
And he’d hidden it all from me, watching me struggle with bills and budget worries without saying a word.
When I finally reach the guest house, Madison is sprawled on the sofa, her phone in hand, texting rapidly.
“There you are!” she exclaims, looking up. “I was about to text you. I’m starving. Do you think they have, like, room service or something? Or should we go to the main house for dinner?”
The thought of facing Jack and his family over a formal dinner makes my stomach clench. “Let’s see what we can find here first,” I suggest, relieved to discover a fully stocked kitchen with enough provisions to feed us for a week.
“Whoa,” Madison says, opening the refrigerator. “Look at all this cheese! And what’s this?” She pulls out a package wrapped in butcher paper.
“Manuka ham,” I read from the label. “It’s a local specialty. Honey-cured, I think.”
“No turkey?” Madison asks, rummaging further.
“I don’t think they really do deli turkey here,” I explain, finding a loaf of fresh-baked bread that looks like it had been delivered that day. “How about sandwiches? This bread looks amazing.”
Madison helps me prepare a simple meal, slicing bread and arranging a platter with several kinds of cheese, the ham, and crisp apples. When I take my first bite of a sharp, aged cheddar, I involuntarily close my eyes.
“Oh my God,” I murmur. “This is incredible.”
“Right?” Madison is already assembling her second sandwich. “Everything here is, like, next-level fancy. Even the butter tastes better.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the simple pleasure of good food providing a brief respite from the emotional turmoil.
“So,” Madison finally says, wiping crumbs from her mouth, “did you talk to Jack?”
The question punctures the momentary peace. “Yes.”
“And?” She watches me expectantly.
“And I told him I need time to think,” I say, my tone making it clear I don’t want to elaborate.
She studies me with that unnervingly perceptive teenage gaze. “Are you still mad?”
“It’s complicated, Madison.”
“You always say that,” she sighs. “But I think you should talk to him more, you know? He seemed really sorry in that text.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“I’m going to FaceTime Chloe before it gets too late back home,” she announces, sensing I’m not ready to discuss it further. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I say, relieved for the reprieve. “I think I’ll take a shower and head to bed early.”
Madison hesitates, then gives me a quick, fierce hug. “It’ll be okay, Mom. Whatever you decide about Jack…it’ll be okay.”
The simple assurance from my fifteen-year-old daughter nearly breaks me. “I know, baby. Thank you.”
“I love you,” she says, squeezing me one more time before heading to her room.
“I love you too.”
The moment Madison’s door clicks shut, the composure I’d been maintaining all day shatters.
I make it to the bathroom just in time, closing the door behind me before the first sob tears from my throat.
I fumble with the shower knobs, turning the water on full blast to mask the sounds of my breakdown.
I sink to the floor, back against the cool tile, and let the grief consume me.
Not just for this betrayal, but for what it represents—another failure of judgment. Another man who had created a careful fiction for me to fall for, hiding the reality of who he was. The shame burns hot and bitter, tears streaming down my face as I hug my knees to my chest.
I think of Troy—all the signs I’d missed, all the red flags I’d ignored. And now Jack. Beautiful, kind, attentive Jack, who’d brought me coffee and made me laugh and looked at me like I was precious. Who’d been lying to me from the beginning.
The worst part is, I can’t even dismiss him as a fraud like Troy. Jack’s care for me and Madison had been genuine. The way he’d integrated himself into our lives—that had all been real.
But he’d kept this massive, fundamental truth from me. I’d trusted him with my vulnerabilities—financial, emotional, physical—while he’d carefully hidden his own reality from me. I’d let him in, let him see me, believed he was seeing me in return.
And all along, he’d been editing himself, curating the version he thought I could accept.
Another sob wrenches from my chest, this one deeper, primal. I press my fist against my mouth to muffle the sound, terrified Madison might hear.
When had I become this person? This fragile, broken thing who kept giving her trust to men who didn’t deserve it?
The water runs cold, forcing me to finally move. I stand on shaky legs, turning off the shower I’d never actually stepped into. The mirror shows a stranger—eyes swollen, nose red, skin blotchy with grief. I splash cold water on my face, the shock helping to center me.
Madison is right down the hall. We are in a foreign country, thousands of miles from home. I can’t afford to fall apart completely, no matter how much I want to. I have to keep it together, at least enough to get through the rest of this trip. For her sake, if not my own.
I change into pajamas and crawl under the luxury sheets of this guest house that was more opulent than any accommodation I’d ever stayed in. The pillowcase absorbs the silent tears that continue to fall as exhaustion finally claims me.
Tomorrow will bring more confrontations, more decisions. Tonight, I allow myself the mercy of sleep.