Chapter Twenty-Three Paul
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paul
"I cheated on my fiancée."
I'm back in Dr. Forseti’s office again, a week after my first appointment, and it took everything inside of me to come back.
The first appointment had been less daunting.
I wasn't sure what to expect. This one, I had talked myself out of coming about five times before finally walking through the door and sitting on the sofa across from her. She's dressed much like last time, in a sweater and jeans. She’s wearing those boots Sophie loves, the comfortable fleece-lined ones. The sight of them anchors me, reminding me why I’m here.
I can't keep staying at the motel. Mentally and financially, it won’t work long term.
I started reaching out to places about renting, but it turned out to be a dead end.
I remember Rhea's words from her landlord, essentially blacklisting me.
I could potentially find a place outside of Starling Cove, but leaving feels wrong. This is still my home.
The words burn as they leave my mouth, knives slicing my throat as I let the betrayal out in the open. Admitting that I'm a failure, a betrayer, a man who hurts the woman he loves in the most brutal way imaginable.
There's no relief from saying it out loud, no satisfying crack of catharsis, not like there was when I told Sophie. Back then, the guilt had settled into my stomach like a heavy weight, and I needed release desperately.
Now, the secret is already out, so the thrill has disappeared.
What I chased with Elise—that post-sex blissful high I obsessed over—is gone and won’t return.
That rush came from the wrongness of it all.
It wasn’t organic or nurtured. It was manufactured in my brain, processed to soothe me. I fell for it every fucking time.
Pathetic.
"Tell me about her."
Dr. Forseti's gentle question makes me glance up. "Sophie?"
"Your fiancée," she clarifies gently, and I take a deep breath.
Sophie’s all I can think about lately, and thinking of her hurts.
Every memory is a sharp pain through my skull.
But I'm masochistic, and the pain proves she was real, that she existed in my life, that I had her once. Then, thoughts of what I did—and how I destroyed it—remind me she’s not mine anymore.
And, God, maybe she's someone else's now.
That thought is the worst one of all.
In my nightmares, that image of her and Callum looking so at ease with each other on her birthday plays on a loop. I had pictured Sophie alone on her birthday, maybe at the apartment, talking to Tess on the phone.
Instead, I stood outside that bookstore and watched the love of my life, happy with another man, my parents, and a group of people, all celebrating her.
Rivers & Rhodes has to be Callum and his mom's bookstore. Did she meet him there? How long have they been talking for them to look that comfortable?
Did she...
Did she know him when we were together?
Were they...
No. I won't go there because Sophie wouldn't have done what I did. She was nothing but honest with me and would have told me about Callum if she had been going to the store. She had to have met him recently, but the way they looked at each other keeps taunting me.
It was intimate, like they existed in their own little world, and it cuts me right to the bone. Her giving him that teasing look, him kissing her hand, her smiling at him like he's her hero, him gazing at her like she's everything...
I had that. I had her.
"Sophie is..." I start, my eyes not seeing Dr. Forseti or this office. They just see Sophie smiling at me. "Beautiful."
Dr. Forseti's pen scratches something down on her pad, but I don't look at her.
In my mind, I'm somewhere else—coffee dates near my office, Sophie flinging a sock at me while she folds laundry, her handing me my coffee and lunch in the morning when I left for work.
Cozy holidays and family dinners, her laughter echoing through our apartment.
Sophie, my Sophie.
I clear the emotion from my throat. "She's smart, works as a Financial Analyst. She's neat and tidy, preferring things to be in order.
She's caring, likes to bake and read." I laugh as the images come unbidden, surrounding me like one of her hugs.
"She wouldn't kill any bugs we found in the apartment.
She would shriek my name, yelling for me to come save her, but wouldn't let me squish it.
She said she felt bad because it was probably scared too.
She'd make me walk outside to release it, and I always did.
She always left these little notes in my lunch bag—just little notes to let me know she loved me. .."
"She sounds wonderful," Dr. Forseti says, and the warmth in her voice slices me open. "She sounds like someone you loved."
"Love," I correct, automatic, helpless. "I still love her. She is the only woman I've ever really loved." I stare down at my hands, clenched in front of me, and bile churns violently in my gut. "And I cheated on her."
"Why do you think you cheated on her, Paul?"
The question is gentle, not prying, just curious.
That's it, right? The reason why I'm here.
Why did I do it? What were the reasons? Why did I take a sledgehammer to my near-perfect life?
Because she was going to have cancer, and I was terrified to lose her.
Because her appearance was going to change—her hair, her breasts. I was too weak to handle it.
Because I was terrified the cancer would change her and she wouldn't be my Sophie anymore.
Because I wanted one second of attention.
All of those whys sound pathetic.
"I don't know,” I grit out, running my hands through my hair. “I don't know why I fucking did it. Any reason I have in my head doesn't seem good enough."
"No reason you come up with is going to feel good enough, because the fallout is devastating.
Excruciating." Dr. Forseti leans forward slightly, her voice low but firm, and meets my eyes without flinching.
"I'm not here to excuse you, Paul. You cheated on your fiancée.
You betrayed the woman you love. I'm not here to judge you or absolve you.
I'm here to help you figure out why. Did you cheat on her with someone you know well? "
"My coworker, Elise."
Elise has called nonstop for the last week. I haven't seen her since I walked out of Rhea's apartment. I don't want to speak to her—ever again, if I’m being honest. I know that I’m not that lucky. We’ll probably run into each other somewhere in this town.
But, for right now, I don't know where she is, I don't know where she's staying, and frankly, I don't care.
If she fades into obscurity, tucking tail and going back to Boston to beg for her family to take her back, I don't care to know. It’s a cruel kind of irony, she lied to me—lies by omission, lies so much like the ones I told Sophie.
Elise had gone on and on about her affluent family, her real estate mogul father, and her former Miss Massachusetts mother. Her Ivy League education, her luxurious vacations, and her clothing and jewelry.
When I had asked deeper questions, she was incredibly good at deflection. Or maybe I was just gullible. She had said that Rhea was a friend of a friend and had asked Elise to live with her to save on rent, and Elise had agreed as if she was doing her a favor.
Initially, I told myself that paying for her meals and gifts was what a good friend would do. Then, a good boyfriend. I bought her things because it made her happy, and that’s what you do for the woman you care about.
Care. I suppose I did care for Elise, in a way.
But Love? No. Not even close. When Elise had said the word love to Joe and Rue, it felt like snapping awake from a nightmare.
The only woman I ever loved was Sophie.
I don't feel anything for Elise, except regret and shame. I think back to every encounter, every harmless conversation at work, where I thought I was just venting to a friend. I think about when I started to really look at Elise, eyes lingering on her legs and chest, but then snapping back and thinking of Sophie. I think of the times we had sex, and every time we made promises of a future that I don’t want.
All of my conversations with Elise felt surface-level, about material things, or about work, or... Sophie.
But, besides those things, we had little to nothing in common.
Elise was materialistic. Elise was snobby. Elise could wear a polite smile with one side of her mouth and talk badly about someone on the other side. She was beautiful, definitely, but it was all veneer, artificial and easily cracked.
She didn't want me for who I was. She wanted what I could provide: the job, the lifestyle, the city connections. She liked what I could give and gave me nothing in return besides empty words and a willing body. Disgustingly enough, I took advantage of that.
Elise didn't mean anything to me, not like Sophie.
Sophie cared for me. She loved me, but even more than that, Sophie heard me, respected me, desired me, and trusted me. She went the extra mile in everything she did for me.
I tossed away a woman like Sophie for Elise.
"When did it really start?"
The question pulls me out of my thoughts, and I blink, confused, almost dazed.
"When did what start?"
"I assume you're marking the day you cheated on Sophie as the day you made it physical," Dr. Forseti says, her voice low but firm.
She shifts in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and leaning forward enough to signal that she's about to dig deeper.
I tense. "But I think we should look back to when you really started the affair.
When you first crossed that emotional line. "
She shrugs almost casually, but her eyes stay sharp. "So, Paul, tell me when it really started. The truth, no matter how ugly it is..."
I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to locate the exact moment in time when Elise stopped being a coworker and became... something else.