The grand gesture

Sophia ~

I didn't go home that night. Or the next.

Alexander didn't show up at the institute. Didn't have Marcus follow me. Didn't call except for one text each morning: "Good morning. I love you. I'm waiting."

Simple. Direct. So unlike the Alexander I'd known.

On the third day, flowers arrived at my workspace. Not the extravagant arrangements he'd sent before—a single white rose with a card in his handwriting: "One day closer to earning your trust. - A"

"Secret admirer?" James asked, smirking.

"Persistent husband." I touched the soft petals, my heart aching.

"You know, for what it's worth, I think he means it." James leaned against the doorframe. "I've done some digging. Alexander Wyndham hasn't been seen with Elena Hartley since your confrontation. He's turned down three major business deals. And according to the society pages, he's been notably absent from every social event."

"How do you know all this?"

"I have my sources." He grinned. "Also, your friend Jennifer won't stop texting me updates. She's very invested in your love life."

I would kill Jennifer later.

That evening, I returned to James's sister's apartment to find a package waiting. Inside was a leather journal—my journal, the one I'd kept before our marriage, filled with sketches and notes about art restoration projects.

I'd thought it was lost.

A note was tucked inside: *I found this in storage. I'm sorry I didn't know these dreams mattered to you. I'm sorry I never asked. Every page shows me what an idiot I've been. - A*

I flipped through the pages, seeing my younger self's passion and excitement. When had I stopped writing? When had I stopped dreaming?

The answer was obvious: the day I'd married Alexander and started living his life instead of mine.

My phone rang. Alexander.

I answered without thinking. "How did you find my journal?"

"I've been going through everything, trying to understand who you were before I ruined you." His voice was tired. "I found boxes of your things in storage. Art supplies. Books. That journal. All the pieces of Sophia Chen that I convinced you to put away."

"You didn't convince me. I chose—"

"You chose to make me happy. To fit into my world. To become the wife you thought I needed." He sighed. "And I let you. No, I encouraged it. Because it was easier than actually knowing you."

I sank onto the couch, clutching the journal. "Alexander—"

"I'm not calling to pressure you. I just wanted you to have that back. You should keep dreaming, Sophia. Even if those dreams don't include me."

He hung up before I could respond.

The next morning, another rose arrived. Another card: *Day four. Still waiting. Still loving you. - A*

"This is actually kind of romantic," James's assistant, Maria, said wistfully. "A billionaire learning to be humble? That's novel-worthy."

"It's manipulation," I muttered, but my heart wasn't in it.

"Is it though?" Maria tilted her head. "Because from where I'm sitting, he's giving you space, respecting your boundaries, and trying to show growth. That's not manipulation. That's change."

Was it? Or was this just another strategy?

On day seven, I arrived at work to find Alexander sitting in the reception area.

My heart stopped. He looked terrible—unshaven, his suit wrinkled, dark circles under his eyes. When he saw me, he stood slowly, like he wasn't sure of his welcome.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Hoping you'd talk to me." He kept his distance, respecting my space. "Just five minutes. Please."

I glanced at James, who nodded encouragingly. "Conference room B is empty."

The walk down the hall felt eternal. Alexander followed at a respectful distance, not touching me, not demanding anything.

Inside the conference room, I turned to face him. "You look awful."

"I haven't slept in a week." He ran a hand through his hair. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you walking away. Hear you saying marrying me was a mistake."

"It was."

"I know." His expression cracked. "I know because I made it one. I turned something that could have been beautiful into a prison sentence." He pulled papers from his jacket. "So I'm giving you what you wanted."

I stared at the documents. Divorce papers. Signed by Alexander.

"What—what is this?"

"Your freedom." He set them on the table between us. "No lawyers. No fight. No conditions. You get everything—half of my personal assets, full ownership of any property you choose, continued support if you want it." His voice broke. "All I ask is that you don't disappear completely. That you let me see you sometimes. Even if it's just at family gatherings for my grandfather's sake."

I couldn't breathe. "You're just... giving up?"

"I'm letting you go." He met my eyes, and the pain there nearly destroyed me. "Because I finally understand that loving someone means wanting them to be happy. Even if that happiness doesn't include you."

"Alexander—"

"I'm sorry, Sophia." Tears slipped down his cheeks—the first time I'd ever seen him cry. "I'm sorry I didn't see you. I'm sorry I didn't choose you. I'm sorry I wasted two years that we could have spent actually building something real." He moved toward the door. "Sign them whenever you're ready. There's no rush. I'll wait."

He left, and I stood there staring at the papers that represented everything I'd wanted.

My freedom. My escape. My chance to start over.

So why did I feel like my heart was being ripped from my chest?

I grabbed my phone, dialing Jennifer. "He signed the divorce papers."

"Holy shit. Are you okay?"

"I don't know." I sank into a chair. "He just... gave up. He's letting me go without a fight."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes. No. I don't—" I pressed my hand to my mouth, holding back a sob. "Jen, he was crying. Alexander Wyndham was crying in front of me."

"Maybe that's what he needed to do. Maybe he needed to hit rock bottom to realize what he lost."

"Or maybe he realized I'm not worth fighting for."

"Sophia Chen, don't you dare." Jennifer's voice turned fierce. "That man spent a week sending you roses and love notes. He found your journal. He respected your space. And now he's giving you the divorce you asked for because he loves you enough to let you go. That's not giving up. That's growth."

"Then why does it feel like dying?"

Silence. Then: "Because you love him. And maybe, just maybe, you don't actually want the divorce anymore."

I stared at the papers, my vision blurring with tears.

Did I want the divorce? A week ago, the answer would have been immediate: yes. Absolutely. Freedom at any cost.

But now?

Now I'd seen a different Alexander. Vulnerable. Humble. Willing to change.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: *He's outside. Been sitting in his car for twenty minutes. Hasn't moved. Just staring at the building. - M*

Marcus. Breaking his employer's confidence to help me.

I ran to the window, looking down at the parking lot. Alexander's car was there, and through the windshield I could see him—head bowed, shoulders shaking.

He was sobbing. Completely breaking down.

"Oh God." My hand pressed against the glass. "What have I done?"

"You set boundaries," James said from behind me. "You demanded respect. You—"

"I broke him." I turned, tears streaming down my face. "I wanted him to hurt the way I hurt. And now that he is, I can't stand it."

"So what are you going to do?"

I looked at the divorce papers on the table. At the window where Alexander sat broken in his car. At the life I'd been trying to build without him.

And I realized Eleanor was right.

We'd been destroying each other to avoid admitting the truth.

"I'm going to take a risk," I whispered. "The biggest one of my life."

I grabbed the papers and ran.