Chapter 12
Sofia wanted to leave the penthouse.
Not me.
The building.
“I hate the kitchen.”
Fair.
“I hate the hallway.”
Fair.
“I hate that every staff member knows.”
That hurt.
Not because they judged her.
Because shame attached itself to places.
“What do you want?”
“A different home for a while.”
“Done.”
She studied me.
“You won’t argue?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
Again.
Too many surprises when I respected her choices.
We moved to the smaller townhouse near Central Park.
Lily loved it immediately because her bedroom had a window seat.
Sofia took longer.
The first morning, I found her standing beside the dishwasher.
Staring.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
I waited.
Then she laughed softly.
“I forgot I don’t have to wash anything.”
That sentence hurt.
I opened the dishwasher.
Put in one plate.
Closed it.
“Look.”
She smiled.
“Very impressive.”
“I’m domestic now.”
She laughed harder.
Good.
Later, she asked whether Delia had apologized.
“No.”
“Marcus?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“I’m glad.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“I don’t want an apology just because they lost.”
Fair.
“What do you want?”
She thought.
“I want them to understand.”
“And if they never do?”
Sofia looked toward Lily playing on the floor.
“Then distance is enough.”
That was harder for me.
I wanted victory.
Confession.
Acknowledgment.
May you like
Sofia wanted safety.
Once again, she understood the goal better.
