Chapter 4

Five Years in Five Minutes

Adrian stood in the quiet kitchen at 6:07 AM. His shirt was untucked and his hair was sticking up everywhere. He hadn’t slept. He’d walked around the master bedroom until the first gray light came through the windows, then came downstairs for coffee. Instead, he found the folded paper on the marble counter. Dear Adrian looked up at him in Sophia’s neat handwriting.

He picked it up, thumb rubbing the fold. His eyes read the first lines.

I don’t know when I stopped loving you.

His jaw got tight. He leaned one hip against the counter, the edge pressing into his side.

I ate 212 dinners alone.

Adrian stopped reading. He looked toward the stairs. Sophia’s guest room door was still closed tight. He rubbed the back of his neck, then made himself look back at the paper.

I lost our baby while you were in Singapore.

His hand dropped to his side. The letter slipped down. He caught it before it fell and read the sentence again. And again. The words wouldn’t sink in.

“Our baby?” he said out loud. The empty kitchen didn’t answer. Only the soft tick of the wall clock replied.

He kept reading, shoulders stiff, breathing slow and careful. Every line hit like a quiet punch. When he got to the end — You just forgot — he folded the letter carefully along the old creases and set it back on the counter. His fingers stayed on the edge for a long moment.

Adrian walked to the stairs and climbed them one at a time. Each step felt heavier than the last. He stopped outside the guest room door, staring at the wood. He raised his fist and knocked.

“Sophia.”

Silence.

He knocked again, harder. “Sophia, open the door. Please.”

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

Sophia stood there in her robe. Her hair was messy from the pillow. Her eyes were dark with tiredness. She crossed her arms tight over her chest and looked at his face.

“You read it,” she said flatly.

Adrian nodded once. He stepped half a step forward but stopped when she didn’t move back. “I read it.”

“Then you know.”

“I know what you wrote.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, grabbing the strands for a second. “I don’t know if it’s true. A baby? You were pregnant? You lost it? And you never told me?”

Sophia’s eyes got wide. She stepped forward, pointing a finger at his chest. “I called you. Three times. You were in a board meeting. Your assistant said you couldn’t be bothered. I waited on hold for forty minutes before I gave up.”

Adrian’s hand dropped to his side. He shifted his weight, one foot sliding back. “I would have taken the call. You know I would have dropped everything.”

“You didn’t.” Her voice stayed low but sharp. She dropped her hand but kept her chin up. “You never did. Not once in five years.”

“I’m taking it now.” He reached out slowly, palm up, eyes locked on hers. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

“It’s five years too late, Adrian.” She pulled her arms tighter around herself, shoulders hunched. “I was alone in that hospital room. The doctors asked if they should call anyone. I said no. Because what was the point?”

He flinched, shoulders dropping. “Sophia… God. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.” She turned a little, eyes going to the window before looking back at him. “Not once. Not how are you, not how your day was, not anything real. Just ‘sorry I’m late’ and ‘big deal closing.’”

Adrian took another small step closer, close enough to smell her shampoo. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry. About the baby. About all of it. Let me make this right.”

“Don’t.” Sophia stepped back fast, one hand coming up between them. “Don’t touch me. Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t promise you’ll do better. I’ve heard every version of that speech. I’m done waiting for the man I married to show up.”

He swallowed hard, throat moving. His fingers flexed at his sides. “Then what do you want me to say? Tell me. I’m standing here. I’m listening.”

She let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “I want you to say nothing. I want you to sign the papers.”

“What papers?”

Sophia turned away from him, walked to the nightstand, and pulled the drawer open. She grabbed a thick stack of papers and pushed them into his hands. Her fingers brushed his for a split second before she pulled them back.

“Divorce papers,” she said, voice steady. “I filed last week. They just need your signature.”

Adrian stared down at the top page. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. The words blurred for a moment. He looked back up at her face. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t yelling. She just looked really tired.

“You’re serious,” he said, voice rough.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” Sophia leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed again, watching him. “We’ve been ghosts in the same house for too long. I’m done haunting it.”

He flipped to the signature page, thumb pressing into the paper. “When did you stop loving me?” The question came out before he could stop it.

She tilted her head, looking at him. “That’s the wrong question.”

“What’s the right one?”

Sophia met his eyes straight on. “When did you start?”

Adrian opened his mouth, then closed it. No answer came. His shoulders sagged.

“That’s what I thought,” she whispered. She reached out, grabbed the door, and started to close it. “Goodbye, Adrian.”

The door clicked shut between them.

He stood in the hallway, divorce papers heavy in his hand. His thumb left a faint mark on the corner of the page.

Adrian turned and walked down the hall to his study. The door creaked as he pushed it open. He walked to the big oak desk and sank into the leather chair. Morning light spread across the surface, shining on the pen holder.

He pulled out a pen. His fingers closed around it tight.

Adrian stared at the signature line. His hand hovered over the paper, pen tip inches away. The letter felt like it was burning in his pocket. The picture of Sophia’s bare finger flashed in his mind. The words about the baby repeated in his head.

He lowered the pen slowly toward the line, then stopped. His hand shook just a little.