Novels by Sophie Barton

I hadn't stepped foot in a hospital in years, and walking into one now, alone, without a hand to hold, felt strange in a way I didn't expect. It was here I'd finally get it confirmed properly — not just the two lines on a test I'd taken alone in a bathroom weeks ago, but the real thing, the doctor's word, the proof. I sat in the waiting room fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve, watching other people come and go, half of them with someone beside them, and I told myself firmly that I didn't need that."First time here?" The receptionist glanced up at me, kind but efficient."First time in years," I said."And is dad joining you today?"The question landed harder than she meant it to. "No," I said, steadier than I felt. "It's just me."She didn't push, just nodded and handed me a clipboard, and I sat there filling out forms with a pen that skipped every third letter, my knee bouncing under the table the whole time.When the nurse finally called my name, I followed her back, heart doing s

I woke up stiff on that couch, every muscle aching, sunlight cutting weak and gray through curtains thick with dust. For a second I didn't remember where I was. Then it all came rushing back, and I lay there a moment longer before forcing myself up. No time to wallow. There was a whole apartment full of neglect waiting, and a baby depending on me to get moving.I spent the morning going room to room, sleeves pushed up, sneezing from the dust I kept stirring loose, sweeping cobwebs down from corners with a broom that had seen better decades. It felt good, actually. Simple. My hands knew what to do even when nothing else in my life did.I was scrubbing the kitchen counter when the knock came.I froze completely, rag in hand, heart slamming so hard I could feel it in my throat. For one irrational second I thought *Ethan*, which made no sense — he didn't know where I was, wouldn't care enough to find out even if he did — but grief doesn't listen to logic. I made myself move, crossed the r

The taxi pulled up outside a building I hadn't seen in years, and for a moment I just sat there in the backseat, staring up at it through rain-streaked glass, my hand still pressed to my stomach. My father must have known the second I called him that I'd end up here instead of his front door. He always understood things about me before I said them out loud.I paid the driver with hands that wouldn't quite stop shaking and stepped out into rain that hadn't let up once since I'd left Ethan's house. By the time I reached the entrance I was shivering hard enough that my teeth ached, and the building didn't offer much comfort — cobwebs thick across the doorframe, the whole place looking like it had been holding its breath for years waiting for someone to come back.I pushed the door open and it groaned like it resented being disturbed. Dust rolled out to meet me, and I coughed hard enough to double over, one hand braced against the frame."Great," I muttered out loud, to no one. "This is f

The storm hit before I even reached the gate, and I welcomed it. Rain came down in sheets, cold enough to sting, thunder cracking somewhere behind the tree line like the sky itself was furious on my behalf. I didn't run for cover. I wanted it. Let it hide whatever my face was doing. Let the pack think it was only water running down my cheeks.My hand went to the pack link out of habit before I caught myself and pulled out my phone instead. The link belonged to pack business. I wasn't pack anymore — that had just been made official in ink. I hadn't called my father's private line in years, not because we'd drifted, but because I'd let myself get swallowed up in being a wife, a Luna, everything for everyone except his daughter checking in on a Sunday. My thumb hovered over his name. Then I pressed call, and it rang twice before he picked up."Elena?" Just my name, but I heard him go tense through the line."Dad." My voice cracked wide open on the single word."What happened? Tell me rig

Something was wrong the moment he walked through that door. I felt it before I saw it — the way his footsteps hit the floor too hard, the way his jaw was locked tight, the way he wouldn't look at me straight on. Three years of marriage teaches you a man's silences. This one had teeth in it.I'd been standing there for the better part of an hour, rehearsing. I had a whole speech ready — soft opening, a joke maybe, something to ease into it before I told him the moon goddess had finally answered us after three years of trying. Two weeks pregnant. I'd practiced saying it out loud in the mirror until it stopped catching in my throat."Ethan." I said his name carefully, testing the air of the room. "You're back early."He didn't answer. He crossed to the table and set something down on it — a folder, thick, official — and my stomach dropped before I even read the words on the cover."What is this?""Divorce papers." He said it flat, like he was reading me a supply order. "I need you to sig