Chapter 2: What I Lost, What I Found

SOFIE

New York’s May streets blurred around me as I stepped outside.

Pre-wedding jitters twisted tight in my stomach.

My steps carried me toward the 9/11 memorial, where the Twin Towers once stood. The hum of tourists faded, dulled beneath the weight pressing on my chest.

A lump rose in my throat.

“Mom, Dad,” I whispered, my voice barely holding. “I wish you were here.”

On the eve of my wedding, their absence felt like a boulder lodged inside me.

I longed for Mom’s hand smoothing my hair, her voice soft in my ear, telling me everything would be okay. For Dad’s steady arm guiding me down the aisle.

Mist cooled my cheeks, softening the skyline into a watercolor blur. Somewhere in the distance, a siren cried out, morphing into a voice.

My voice.

Small. Breaking.

Please don’t make me go. Don’t take me. I’m not ready to leave them.

Losing my family gutted me. But being torn from the only home I’d ever known made it worse.

It felt like losing them all over again. It was a memory I never escaped, only carried.

The day the social worker brought me back home to pack still haunted me.

I had crawled into my parents' closet, curling up beneath Dad's hanging coats, where the scent of his cologne and Mom’s jasmine perfume clung thick in the air. It was the last place that smelled like them.

Ringo squeezed in beside me, his warm body pressed close, his quiet whimpers matching my heartbeat.

Then came a soft knock.

Gentle. Hesitant.

“Sofie?” Ms. Emily’s voice came muffled, careful.

I held my breath, hoping if I stayed still enough, she might go away. I wanted to disappear into the fabric, to dissolve into the scent and the past.

But even silence couldn’t stop what was coming. My sanctuary was slipping away.

Ms. Emily stood nearby that day, the social worker who helped move me to Texas.

She tried. Her sympathy skimmed the surface. The grief stayed buried, untouched.

I’d clung to Ringo, his tail wagging with hesitation, brushing against my leg like he knew.

Like he was trying to stay strong for both of us.

“Please,” I had begged. “Just let him come with me. I'll never ask for anything else.”

My arms tightened around his scruffy neck. He let out a soft whine, licking the tears from my cheek.

Ms. Emily crouched down, her voice careful, rehearsed, explaining policies, travel restrictions, logistics.

None of it mattered.

He was my last tie to home.

But it was no use.

As we stepped outside, the chill bit through my jacket, and Ringo's leash slipped from my fingers.

Ms. Emily walked ahead, handing the leash over to a man from the local animal shelter.

Panic exploded inside me. I bolted.

"No!" I screamed, legs pumping, lungs burning.

I ran to Ringo, grabbing for his collar.

He barked wildly, tail thrashing, trying to reach me.

The man pulled him back.

Ms. Emily caught up just as I lunged forward again.

She grabbed my arms, holding me back. "Sofie, I'm sorry. You can't—"

"No! Let me go! Ringo!" I kicked, thrashed, screamed so loud my throat tore raw.

Tears streamed down my face.

Ringo was fighting, too, barking, his paws dragging against the pavement as he was pulled away.

He looked back, desperate and howling, before they lifted him into the vehicle.

The door shut with a final, echoing thud.

I collapsed into Ms. Emily's arms, hollow and shaking, my cries barely human.

That was the moment my heart broke for good.

Even now, the memory tightened in my chest.

That goodbye wasn’t just about a dog.

It was the end of one life, and the start of another I never asked for.

The woman I was sent to live with in Texas was supposed to be family.

But I quickly learned that being related didn’t mean you were loved.

Nothing about that house felt like home.

Cold dinners. Colder silences.

I was a burden there, not a child grieving.

“You’re just another mouth to feed,” she snapped one winter night, her voice like frostbite.

That sentence planted itself in me. It grew quiet and thick, impossible to ignore.

It made me believe I wasn’t worth the space I took up.

Everything hurt. Every breath, every morning.

Until him.

Boerne, Texas.

The hills went on forever. No taxis. No subways. Just sky and road.

I’d sat alone on a cracked park bench, the wood cold beneath my palms, traffic sliding past without care.

I didn’t belong to this place.

The air smelled different, like cedar and dust instead of car exhaust and hot pretzels.

The silence pressed in on me, eerie and absolute.

I missed the constant hum of the city, the way you could disappear in a crowd.

Here, I felt exposed. Unseen in all the wrong ways.

Then he appeared.

A man in denim, worn boots, and a cowboy hat. Weathered skin. Kind eyes.

And beside him… a dog.

It moved slowly, like it recognized the kind of sadness that doesn’t leave.

When it reached me, it nudged my knee, eyes steady. Knowing.

It was a golden Labrador, just like Ringo.

The same honey-colored coat, the same gentle eyes, even the way one ear flopped to the side.

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

My breath hitched, fingers frozen midair.

The reminder wrecked me.

Ringo.

The resemblance hit hard.

My fingers dug into the edge of the bench.

The dog rested its head on my lap, and the dam inside me gave way.

The tears came hot. Relentless.

The man held out a neatly folded cloth.

“Here, use this.”

I blinked at it. “What is it?”

He laughed. A low, honest sound that cracked through the cold.

It warmed something in me I hadn’t realized was frozen.

A hesitant laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

“It’s called a handkerchief,” he said, smiling.

“An old-fashioned Kleenex. I’m Samuel Martinez, but folks call me Old Man Sam. I own the general store down the road.”

I took the cloth.

Soft. Clean. Safe.

I dabbed my cheeks, the fabric offering more comfort than words ever could.

He glanced at me, voice quieter now.

"I can tell you're dealing with something," he breathed.

"Feel free to drop by the store anytime. Sometimes a bit of kindness and a good belly laugh are all we need."

His words settled into me. They never left.

That day became a turning point, a flicker of light inside all that tangled, aching dark.

Piece by piece, I built something new.

I shaped a life in unfamiliar soil, unsure if it would take root.

But I held onto Old Man Sam’s kindness. Still do.

Standing at the memorial now, I tried to stay here.

Present. Not buried in the past.

Focused on what’s next.

The future Andrew and I were about to build.

I touched my engagement ring.

Cool metal against warm skin.

It was supposed to be a promise.

But his voice from last night echoed in my head, and something in it felt off.

Distant.

Is it just stress? Or is he not telling me something?

* * *

SOFIE

I wandered toward the quieter edge of the memorial, away from the tourists and camera flashes.

My fingers hovered over my phone. Just call him. I need to hear his voice.

It rang.

And rang.

Voicemail.

The recording hit harder than I expected. Too polished. Too rehearsed.

I moved the phone away, my heart thudding. Don’t let this ruin the day. Just talk to him.

I hit redial.

Third ring.

“Hello?”

I flinched. The irritation in his voice scraped against something raw in me.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said, forcing a lightness I didn’t feel. “Just wanted to check in. How’s the dissertation?”

“Oh. Hey, Sof.” His tone softened, just barely, though distraction knotted every word. “It’s... a lot. Jameson threw in some last-minute edits. I’m buried in it.”

I pictured him hunched over his notes, fingers in his hair, thinking about deadlines. Not me.

We used to stay on the phone for hours, even if we had nothing to say. He’d read me random facts from his textbooks, and I’d hum just to continue hearing his voice. Now there was static between us. Silence where laughter used to be.

“I was hoping we could talk,” I said quietly. “Before everything gets crazy tomorrow.”

Papers rustled in the background.

The pause that followed felt like a wall.

“Talk? Now? I... I don’t think I can. This section is really important.”

My chest tightened. “More important than talking to your bride-to-be the night before our wedding?”

The words slipped out before I could soften them, sharp and indignant.

“No, of course not,” he blurted. “It’s just... I’ll try to finish this part soon. Maybe I can call you in an hour? I know we still have some last-minute wedding details to sort out.”

Wedding details. Is that all this is to him right now?

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. “Okay.”

“I love you, Sof.”

“I love you too,” I whispered, but the line was already dead.

The phone dropped to my side.

That didn’t sound like the man I’m about to marry. Where’s the warmth? The excitement?

The city blurred again, just noise and movement behind glass.

Horns. Footsteps. Laughter.

All of it faded.

My thoughts churned, restless and loud. Is he really ready for this? Or worse... am I ready to marry a man who already seems absent?