What We Choose

Chapter Thirty-Nine Sophie #3

Callum chuckles from next to me, gently bumping my shoulder with his.

We're seated on the cash register counter, waiting for Paul to show up at the store, where he agreed to come to talk to me.

I considered going to neutral ground, but then quickly pushed that out of my head.

Why should I spare any thought for his comfort?

If he wants to meet with me, he can do it where I feel safest. I wasn't going to let him back into the apartment we shared, and it's way too cold out to meet on the boardwalk.

While I love Donna and Rich, I didn't feel comfortable going to their house.

So, I told him to meet at the store on Friday at 8, after closing, and he agreed through Donna.

Maeve pressed a tiger's eye crystal in my hand, kissed my head, and whispered just what I needed to hear.

"Forgiveness isn't about excusing what broke you—it's about unhooking your soul from it.

You don't owe your past anything but peace, my dove. "

I smiled at her and cradled the tiger's eye like it was precious in both my hands. "Thank you, Maeve."

She smiled at me and patted her son's cheek before heading up the stairs.

I blow out a breath and lift Callum's arm to check his watch—7:48. Callum uses that arm to wrap around my waist and pull me closer to him. "You're feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I tell him, looking up to meet his searching gaze. And I am.

I only feel a small pang of nerves, the same one I normally get when I'm about to present at work or when I'm waiting to hear if my doctor thinks the treatment is going well.

Nerves, but not fear, not dread. Not that I'm looking forward to seeing Paul, but I think this talk will be like the closing of a long-overdue book.

"Really, I'm fine," I smile. "I don't expect clarity. I don't want friendship. I... don't really want anything from Paul."

"Is there anything you do hope to get out of this conversation?" Callum asks me, curiously.

I open my mouth to respond before—

Knock-knock.

Paul stands at the door, a KN95 mask covering the lower half of his face. I had told Donna to please make sure that he was wearing it, or I wouldn't speak with him. He raises his hand in a wave, and Callum pushes himself from the counter to let him into the store.

Paul nods politely as he steps into the store. "Callum."

"Paul," Callum returns, his voice a low rumble as he walks back to my side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. Paul's eyes track the movement, tracking the possessive, protective way Callum holds me, and I take a deep, steadying breath.

"Hi, Paul," I say.

"Hi, Sophie..." Paul says, his voice gentle and quiet as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet. His eyes scan me from head to toe, "You look great."

Callum's hand slides from my shoulder down to my hip, squeezing and drawing me closer into his side. With Paul's mask hiding half his face, I meet his eyes—those eyes that used to make me melt, so blue and bright. I used to imagine children with those eyes. I used to wish for it.

Now I look at them and feel... nothing.

I find that I much prefer warm brown eyes. Eyes that belong to a gentle giant with dark hair, a beard, and a smile that makes my knees weak and my stomach swoop.

"Thanks," I reply, leaning a little more into Callum's warmth. "And... thanks for wearing the mask."

"Of course," he replies immediately, taking a cautious step closer, but still keeping his distance. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I tell him, glancing back up to Callum. His face is a stone mask, his brown eyes cold as he looks at Paul. But when he looks down toward me, his entire face softens.

"I'll leave you guys to talk," he murmurs, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "I'll be in the office if you need me. Just yell, I'll come running."

I nod and pull back enough to look him in the eyes, wanting him to see the steadiness in mine when I say, "I love you."

Callum smiles at the words, his eyes crinkling into the corner, and he leans forward to kiss my forehead, his big arm squeezing my waist. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Paul turn away from us, his shoulders up around his ears as if he could block out all sound.

"I love you too," Callum replies, his voice so tender before he brushes his hand on my cheek, shoots Paul one last look, and disappears through the office door.

Paul and I stand in an awkward silence for a minute. Finally, I clear my throat and nod toward the mismatched seating area in the corner. He follows my gesture, and I make my way over, sinking into my favorite overstuffed chair.

Paul glances at the one next to me, and I feel my whole body tense, hoping he doesn't choose that one.

I don't want him that close to me. Thankfully, he seems to think better of it and sits in the one across from me.

He shifts, then shifts again, trying to get comfortable while I just feel myself melting into the softness of the familiar chair.

I'm comfortable, I'm at ease, because I'm home.

I wonder if he feels as uncomfortable as he did when he confessed to cheating on me.

Not some one-off incident, a full-blown affair with his coworker.

I also wonder if he looks at me and Callum now and tries to measure up against the man—the man he bullied—and realizes that he doesn't. He never will.

I wonder if he hurts as badly as he hurt me.

And then I realize, his hurt doesn't affect me, not positively or negatively. His pain, his regret, his sorrow don't really mean anything to me.

Will it feel good to know that he's suffering in immense regret? Maybe.

You know what feels better? Sitting in this room and knowing that he didn't break me. That cancer, that he was so goddamn scared of, didn't break me. Nothing can break me, unless I allow it to.

And I like myself and my life too much to let that happen.

I let Paul sit in the silence while I fold my hands in my lap and wait for him to start.

I am curious about what he sees when he looks at me now.

I didn't dress up for this occasion. I'm wearing a thick sweater, my fleece-lined leggings, my fuzzy slippers, and the orange hat that April made for me. No wig. No brows. No lashes. No makeup.

I'm not here to impress him, and I'm being a little petty because this is exactly what he was so afraid of me becoming.

This is what he couldn't handle.

This is what I look like now.

And Callum still thinks I'm beautiful.

"So..." Paul starts, before trailing off.

I huff, "You're the one who wanted to speak to me. Floor is yours."

"Right," he nods. "Sophie, what I did to you... There aren't sufficient words to express the depth of my regret. I'm going to speak as plainly as I can, but if you need me to stop—"

I shake my head, "I don't want to stop, I don't want to pause, Paul. Please say what you want to say."

"Okay, of course," he nods, before taking a deep breath and looking me right in the eye.

"Sophie, I am so sorry. I am so sorry for my betrayal, my affair, lying to you, and giving another woman the time and energy that I should have been giving you.

Through therapy, I was able to see that I had.

.. feelings that were more than platonic for Elise, before you found even the lump. "

I feel a tightening in my chest at that admission.

I knew it was emotional, I knew there were feelings involved on his end, but.

.. I didn't realize how far back it went.

I didn't even know it was before cancer was on the radar.

My anger flares, but when Paul sees my face twist, he falters, but I motion with my hand for him to keep going.

"I wasn't the partner you deserved, Sophie," he says, his voice strained. I blink, honestly a little startled to hear him admit it so plainly. "Do you remember our trip to Jamaica?"

A harsh laugh escapes me, "Yeah. I remember.

I remember being on the phone with the travel agent for hours, planning every last detail.

I remember having to book the tickets myself at the last minute because you forgot.

I remember packing both my bag and yours.

I remember being so stressed the whole time that I couldn't even relax.

I remember thinking... that was just what relationships were like. "

"I look back at those trips, and I can only remember the good—the restaurants, walks on the beach, how beautiful you looked.

.." he trails off, his tone a little dreamy like he's caught in the memory.

"I never even considered doing anything to help plan or pack.

I was so comfortable and complacent being taken care of that I never realized I never reciprocated.

You never really needed me, Sophie... but I needed you—"

"I did need you!" I snap, anger flaring inside my chest. My tone is sharp, rising in volume, "I did need your help, Paul. I fucking asked you for help. I asked you to do things. You just... didn't show up. You didn't hear me."

"No, I heard you, sweet—Sophie," he corrects quickly when he sees my eyes flash, "I heard you.

.. I just didn't actually listen to you.

I took you for granted. I assumed you would always be there.

.. and then when you found the lump, I just knew that it was cancer, and I was faced with the prospect of you not being there.

.. I panicked. I used Elise as a vehicle.

I can say she tempted me, she ensnared me, she was irresistible, but it would be a lie.

I was fully in control of my actions, and I betrayed you.

And I am so, so sorry, Sophie. I will live in that regret every single day for the rest of my life. "

It's a good apology, even I can admit that. He acknowledged all his betrayals, took ownership of them, and sounded genuine. His eyes look hopeful, wet with tears as he watches for my reaction.