After the Divorce

Sophia’s POV

The cake box burned against my palms as I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. I’d been standing here for minutes, wondering if coming unannounced to my boyfriend’s place was a good idea.

The last week had been rocky—he was always busy, always with an excuse, cancelled dates at the last minute and showed up late when he did come. It felt like we were slowly drifting apart, so I came here to mend what we once had.

Jean and I had been together for more than a year.

I’d attended his concert several times, but when we crossed paths again at a random cafe, he recognized me as a fan. The memory still made me smile. It made me believe maybe foolishly that we could fix whatever this was.

I finally pressed the doorbell.

Someone opened the door almost immediately, holding a glass of champagne in her hands. Her smile was blinding, loud music pulsing through my veins as small cackles of laughter filled my ears.

“Well, come on in,” she urged, opening the door wider. “You're just in time for the toast.”

The cake box trembled in my hands. “A toast?”

“Yeah, the couple. Jean and Marie?” She tilted her head and watched me curiously, almost like I was in the wrong room at a certainly wrong time. Then she pointed at a banner above our heads. Happy third anniversary, Marie and Jean!

Three years? I stumbled backwards with a little sway. My brain tried to make sense of whatever was going on. Perhaps it was another Jean, but I was sure I didn't walk into the wrong home. I'd been here dozens of times for house dates.

It definitely was my Jean.

I stared at the banner again and smiled. “I'm sure they just have the same name,” I said under my breath. “I'm here to meet Jean Beaufort.”

“He is Jean Beaufort. Today is his wedding anniversary with Marie,” she explained rather calmly, and I took another step back. A strange ringing started in my ears as my pulse jumped. “No,” I said with a laugh. “I…you…”

The woman was still watching me, her brows forming a deep V. “Are you okay?”

I nodded too quickly, then shook my head, blinking back the burn in my eyes as my fingers started to tremble. “I need to see him,” I mumbled, pushing past her as I rushed in. A small part of me believed there had to be an explanation for whatever this was.

I didn't want to believe Jean would do this to me.

The apartment felt different from what I'd been used to. Bodies were moving against each other like this was something worth celebrating, like this was normal, but I could barely feel my legs as I moved past them.

The cake box felt heavier now, and perhaps my hands were just weaker. I scanned the room filled with sweaty bodies and finally saw him. Jean. He stood in the center of the room, one arm wrapped loosely around a woman in a silk dress the color of ivory. She leaned into him like she’d done it a thousand times, like she belonged there.

And my heart sank.

Her hand was resting against his chest, fingers splayed like she had every right to touch him, like she owned him, and it felt like I was living a nightmare.

My stomach dropped so suddenly I thought I might actually collapse right here between strangers. Then someone raised a glass. “Alright, everyone. Let the lovebirds have their moment.”

Everyone turned their attention toward them. I watched as Jean pulled Marie a little closer, his hand settling at her waist as a small smile curved his lips. I couldn't breathe. I was literally gasping for air, still holding onto the cake like a pathetic fool.

“Three years,” someone said loudly, voice like a sharp knife digging into my chest. “That’s not easy these days.”

Jean lifted his glass, smiling down at her. “Marie made it easy,” he said, his voice steady and warm. It was familiar in a way that made my heart clench. “Loving her is like breathing.”

That one landed like a slap.

Marie laughed too, her head tipping toward his shoulder. “You say that like we don't argue at all.”

“And that's another sign of love,” Jean murmured loud enough for those closest to hear, and everyone erupted in a fit of laughter.

Something inside me snapped. I stepped forward before I could think better of it. “Jean.” My voice cut through the moment sharper than I expected, interrupting their sweet moment, and everything stilled.

The silence felt heavy and uncomfortable, but I didn't care. I deserved an explanation. I wanted to scream, to shout, to wreck this damn anniversary party, but I felt too weak to even form a word.

Jean’s head turned slowly. For a second, he didn’t react. His expression stayed exactly the same, like my presence hadn’t fully registered yet. Then panic flashed through his eyes. “Sophia?” he said, my name sounding awkwardly in his throat.

Marie’s gaze shifted between us, her smile faltering just slightly. “You know her?”

I parted my lips, about to introduce myself as his girlfriend and ruin this happy moment, but Jean moved fast.

“Hey, hey…can we just—” He was already crossing the room, already reaching for my arm. “Sophia, can we talk? Just for a second?”

His grip was gentle, but there was urgency in it, like I was a freaking problem he needed to manage. I didn't even know why I let him pull me. Maybe I was still trying to wrap my head around everything, about how I had been a fool, about how naive I had been while this man toyed with my emotions.

And as much as I hated it, a part of me wanted to hear what he would say. I wanted him to fix it. To fix this. I held the cake tightly like a symbol of hope as he dragged me into the hallway, far away from the eyes that started to follow us.

The moment the door slammed shut behind us, his expression changed. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “You weren’t supposed to—”

“I wasn’t supposed to do what?” My voice came out shaky. “Find out?”

“Sophia, please…just keep your voice down.”

And that was it. It made everything snap inside of me. I let out a hollow laugh, feeling something bitter settle at the back of my throat. “You’re worried about my voice right now?”

“I’m worried about you causing a scene,” he said quickly. “This isn’t the time.”

“The time?” I repeated, staring at him. “Jean, when exactly was the right time to tell me you have a wife?!”

He flinched, and for some reason, that hurt more than anything else. “I was going to tell you,” he said too fast, like he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. “I just… I didn’t know how.”

“You didn't know how?!” My loud voice rattled the windows as a tear slid down my cheeks. “Jean, we've been dating for more than a year!”

“We can't do this right now, Sophie.” He couldn't even stare at me. He dragged a hand through his hair. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don't ruin this for me.”

The words landed like a slap. “I shouldn't….ruin..this for you?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice even further, like that would make it better. “She doesn’t know, okay? And she can’t find out like this. I love my wife, Sophia. I can’t—”

I couldn't hear the rest.

Everything after I loved my wife made no more sense. I looked down at the cake box still in my hands, and it suddenly felt ridiculous. I had picked his favorite carefully, hoping we could sit at the lounge and enjoy a movie together and bond our usual way, but I was the delusional one.

Jean was still talking—I could see his mouth moving, see the tension in his face—but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing he said mattered.

I shifted my grip on the box and opened it.

He frowned slightly, confused. “Sophia, what are you—”

I didn’t let him finish.

The cake hit his face with a soft thud, frost smeared across his cheek, his mouth, and his shirt. He stood there, blinking through sugar and cream as he stared at me. “Fuck, Soph—”

“Happy anniversary,” I said quietly, cutting him off. Wiping off the single tear, I walked out of his home without glancing back at anyone.

The moment I stepped outside, my breath hitched painfully. I'd thought I could keep it in until I got home, but a loud sob tore through me as I walked down the streets. Tears blurred my vision as I forced myself to keep walking, but I didn’t even make it far.

I collapsed against the wall as the weight of everything crashed down at once. “God, Sophia…you’re so stupid,” I whispered to myself.

And maybe I was.

Because I’d believed him.

Because I loved him.

Because I’d built a whole future on a lie.

I wiped my face with shaking hands, trying—and failing—to steady my breathing. I knew staying one more day in Los Angeles would destroy me, which meant there was only one place left to go.

The place I’d spent years running from home..