The night didn't end with a slammed door.
It ended with silence.
Sofia stood in the center of her room, still wrapped in her robe, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly on her skin—like an echo of the woman who had smiled beside Adam hours ago.
Her heels were lined neatly by the wall. Her gown hung untouched on the back of the chair. Everything looked untouched. Like the evening never happened.
But inside? She was unraveling.
She hadn't cried—not when he told her not to hope, not even when he said he wasn't over the woman whose name shattered him. She had smiled. Nodded. Promised to stay.
And now, she stood in the quiet, wondering what parts of her she had buried in the name of grace.
Sofia sat at the desk by the window and took out a sheet of paper. It was the same stationery she always used when she needed to say something her lips wouldn't allow.
Her pen moved slowly, carefully, across the page.
Adam,
