For months, I had believed Sophie’s silence meant she didn’t care
enough to fight for us. I had mistaken her restraint for acceptance. Her calmness
for indifference.
But maybe she had been carrying a terror so large there was no room left for protest.
“Sophie,” I said, “I wouldn’t have stayed out of guilt.”
Her mouth trembled.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Ethan.” She gave a tired, aching laugh. “You left before you even knew.”
I had no answer.
The door opened again, and Dr. Keller returned with a nurse.
“Sophie,” he said, firmer this time, “now.”
She nodded.
The nurse moved to help her stand, but before they guided her inside, Sophie looked back at me.
“You should go visit whoever you came here to see,” she said.
The sentence was polite.
Too polite.
It was the voice people used with acquaintances.
“Sophie, I’m not leaving.”
