I stared at the phone in my hand, my chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths.
My heart pounded not with love, but with betrayal. With fury.
With the ache of knowing I had been played by the one person I let in again".
Sophie sat silently beside me, her hand resting on my knee, offering silent strength.
I hit Call.
It rang once. Twice.
"Ella," Joe's voice came through, warm, familiar, as if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
"You married bastard," I spat, no warning, no hesitation.
Silence.
"W-What?" he stammered. "Ella, what are you talking about?"
"Samantha A. Bennett," I said, each syllable sharp as glass.
"Recognize the name, Joe? You should. She called me a husband snatcher this morning."
"…Ella, listen, I can."
"Don't, do not lie to me again. I've seen the pictures. I've read the comments.
You let me sit across from you, touch you, kiss you, while wearing a wedding ring in someone else's life?"
A long silence followed.
Then finally, his voice, low, guilty. "I didn't mean for you to find out like this."
I laughed bitterly, tears hot and unwanted at the corners of my eyes.
"You didn't mean for me to find out at all.
You thought you could juggle us both. What was I, Joe? A fantasy? A distraction from your marriage?"
"Ella, it's complicated. My marriage isn't"
"Don't!" I shouted, standing now, pacing. "Don't you dare feed me another line.
You made me a side dish in someone else's life, and I didn't even know I was on the menu!"
He was quiet again. Maybe even ashamed. I didn't care.
"I deserve better," I said, voice steady now. "Better than lies. Better than stolen moments. Better than you."
He tried one last time, weak and desperate. "Ella, please. Can we "just talk?"
"We just did," I said coldly. And then, without another word, I hit End Call.
Blocked.
His number vanished from my phone like dust. Like the illusion he was.
I let the phone fall to the couch beside me. My hands trembled, but my spine was straight.
Sophie pulled me into a tight hug. "I'm proud of you," she whispered. "That took guts."
I nodded against her shoulder. "He doesn't get to break me again. Not this time."
"Seen Without Speaking" – A Moment with Mr. Michael
The hum of the office faded into a dull blur.
My eyes traced lines on the spreadsheet before me, but the numbers refused to settle.
My mind wasn't here, not really. Not since that call. Not since everything cracked open.
I barely noticed when Mr. Michael's assistant tapped my desk.
"He'd like to see you," she said gently, as if she already knew something was off.
I rose slowly and made my way to his office. The hallway felt longer than usual, my steps heavier.
"Ella," Mr. Michael greeted, standing by the window with his usual composed presence, but his tone was softer than I'd ever heard it. "Close the door."
I did.
"Come sit," he offered, gesturing to the chair across from his.
I sat without a word.
He studied me for a moment, then walked around the desk and knelt slightly beside me, eyes level with mine.
"You've been quiet all day," he said gently.
"Even in the meeting, I saw it. You're not yourself. Is something wrong?"
My lips trembled, and before I could form a lie or an excuse, a tear slipped down my cheek.
He didn't speak.
He just reached into the drawer for a tissue and handed it to me, then, after a moment's hesitation, touched my hand gently.
"You don't have to explain anything," he said in that low, steady voice of his.
"But I want you to know… I'm here. Not just as your manager."
His words stirred something deep in my chest, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes.
Another one saying "I'm here for you," I thought bitterly. Men and their promises... they never stay.
"I'll keep my pain to myself," I whispered more to myself than him.
Mr. Michael didn't push. He just nodded slowly.
"It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to talk. Just cry it out, Ella. You'll be fine. Sometimes silence speaks louder."
And with that, he returned to his seat, giving me space to release the storm I had been holding inside.
No pressure. No questions. Just presence.
And for the first time today… I let myself cry.
"Fresh Air, Fresh Start" – Sophie's Comfort
I was trying to recover.
Each morning, I told myself I'd do better, that I'd eat, that I'd stop rereading those cruel words, that I'd forget Joe.
But grief doesn't work on a clock, and heartbreak doesn't care about schedules.
The walls of my house had become both my shield and my prison.
The silence was loud. My thoughts were louder".
But Sophie? She was louder than they all.
She was in every inch of my house, rearranging pillows, boiling water for tea I wouldn't drink, straightening my robe like I was a child who needed tending.
She didn't ask questions. She didn't push too hard. She just was.
"Come on, Ella," she said softly but firmly one morning as she tugged open my curtains.
Sunlight flooded the room. I winced. "You need fresh air."
"I'm not in the mood," I mumbled from my cocoon of blankets.
She yanked the blanket off me. "I know. That's why I'm here. To drag you out of it."
I stared at her.
She folded her arms. "You don't get to rot away while he walks around, living his life.
You are not made for shadows, Ella. You shine, even when you don't want to."
Tears filled my eyes, not the kind that needed sobbing. The tired kind.
The thank-you-for-not-giving-up-on-me kind.
Sophie smiled gently and reached out her hand. "We don't have to do much.
A walk.
A smoothie. Some sunlight on your skin. We'll take it one step at a time."
And so I took her hand.
We stepped out into the world, me, broken but breathing, her, steady and stubbornly hopeful.
And somehow, in that quiet companionship, the ache loosened… just a little.
As the afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the neighborhood, Sophia gently tugged my hand.
"Come on, Ella," she said, her voice light but firm. "You've been locked inside too long. Let's go for a walk."
I hesitated at the door, arms folded, eyes distant.
But something about her persistence, steady and unrelenting, gave me the strength to move.
I nodded silently, slipping on my sneakers.
The streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of cars and the soft rustle of leaves overhead.
We walked side by side, not in a hurry, not going anywhere specific.
Just moving, breathing.
"Feel that?" Sophia asked, tilting her head toward the breeze. "That's freedom.
A little taste of it, anyway."
I smiled faintly, grateful she wasn't forcing me to talk, but just being there.
We passed a few kids riding bikes, a couple holding hands on a bench, and an old man watering his garden, all pieces of life moving on around us.
And with every step, I felt the weight inside me shift, just slightly.
Sophia suddenly turned toward a small corner café.
"Let's get tea," she said. "My treat.
And maybe a little something sweet too."
Inside, the warm aroma of baked goods and cinnamon filled the air.
We sat by the window, sipping quietly, the warmth of the tea seeping into my chest.
"You don't have to talk," she said softly, watching me over the rim of her cup. "But just know you're not alone, okay?"
My eyes met hers, and for the first time in days, I didn't feel like I had to hold it all together.
I let out a quiet breath. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a cry.
Just… release.
The walk hadn't fixed everything, but it reminded me: I wasn't drowning. I wasn't invisible. I had Sophia.
And sometimes, that was enough.