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I stare at the man who was my almost-could-have-been, and the kindness in his eyes causes tears to well in mine.

“Connor…”

“Whatever happened, whatever is happening, you’re safe now. Okay?”

I nod, but the motion sends fresh tears spilling over my cheeks. Without hesitation, Connor wraps his arms around me, and I bury my face in his bare chest. Tears cascade down my face and over his skin as I fall apart.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into my hair as he pulls me tighter, one cradling the back of my head and the other pressing comfortingly against my back, trying to hold me together. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Soph. Just let it out.”

The weight of everything I’m feeling becomes too much for my body to hold, and my legs crumple beneath me. Connor tightens his grip on me as I fold into him, scooping me into his arms before I collapse to the floor. I curl into his chest, letting him take my weight. He carries me across the apartment and lowers onto the couch, settling me on his lap like a child. Wrapped tightly in his embrace, sobs wracking my body until exhaustion finally pulls me under.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I open my eyes, sunlight is spilling through the windows. Blinking slowly, my mind races to place the unfamiliar surroundings. Connor’s bedroom. I swallow hard, a flash of panic firing through me before I look to my left to find the other side of the bed empty and unslept in.

When I’m upright, I find a glass of water on the nightstand and a small stack of clothes at the end of the bed. I run my fingers over the soft, worn fabric of the hoodie before pulling it over my head. The sleeves dangle from my arms, and I have to push them up to my elbows to free my hands. The sweatpants are even worse, the waistband far too loose. I roll it over twice, then a third time, trying to keep the fabric from slipping down my hips.

My feet bare on the cool hardwood floor, I tentatively follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen. I find Connor standing at the counter, dressed now in jeans and a T-shirt, his back to me as he pours from a French press. He turns when I enter, his face softening. “Hey,” he says, gesturing to the table like this is just an ordinary morning. “Sit. I’ll get you coffee.”

I sink into a chair, my body aching and my heart heavier than the caffeine can fix. He sets a mug in front of me, prepared exactly how I like it. “I’m sorry.” My voice cracks, hoarse from crying. “Again. About calling in the middle of the night. About showing up like this. About…” I gesture vaguely at myself and the disaster that I brought into his apartment.

Connor sits across from me, his own mug cradled in his hands, staring at me with soft brown eyes. “Don’t be,” he insists. “You could walk out and another decade could pass and I’d still open my door for you in the middle of the night. You know that, right?”

I nod, because deep down, I do know. Connor has always been such a good guy, kind in a way that doesn’t ask for anything in return. “Thank you,” I whisper, wrapping my hands around the warm cup.

Connor watches me over the rim of his mug. “I’m not saying you have to,” he starts carefully, “but if you want to talk, I’m here. No judgment. No I-told-you-so. Just… here.”

Silence falls between us as I stare into my coffee, thinking about all the things I can’t say but desperately want to. “You were right,” I state flatly.

Connor looks confused, his brow furrowing. “Right about what?”

“Vance not being the marrying type.” I look up at him, finding unspoken understanding. He leans forward, almost imperceptibly, like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t want to push me away. “He’s having an affair.” Those four little words feel like I’m admitting defeat. “With his assistant, of all people. I’m such a cliché.”

Connor’s face crumples with the kind of pain that comes from watching someone you care about suffer. “Oh, Soph,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry. I know…” He pauses for a moment, reconsidering his choice of words. “I don’t know how much that hurts. But I’m sorry.”

I nod, accepting the comfort even though it doesn’t remotely ease my pain. “And… I’m pregnant.”

This isn’t how this morning was supposed to go. I’m supposed to be lying in bed with my husband, telling him he’s going to be a father. Instead, I’m in my ex-lover’s kitchen, dressed in his clothes, as I confess one of the most monumental moments in my life to a man I’ve had one conversation with in the past decade.

“Sophia,” Connor says carefully, setting his mug down, his voice gentle. “What do you need? What can I do?”

I look up at him, and I realize that I don’t know what I need. The only things I know, right now, are that I’m pregnant, alone, and more heartbroken than I knew was possible.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper as the tears start again.

“We’ll figure it out.” Connor reaches across the table, his hand finding mine and squeezing gently. “It doesn’t have to be today. You can stay here as long as you need.”

Three fucking days.

Seventy-two hours of tearing this city apart. Knowing it would be futile, I pounded on the door of her old apartment until a stranger answered. I’ve called Kierra every day, desperate for any piece of information. I even searched her dorm room while she was in class to confirm Sophia wasn’t there. I’ve called every contact in her phone. I’ve sat in the coffee shop she likes a few buildings from our home, watching the door, desperate to see her walk through it. I even went to my mother’s house, half-hoping Sophia had turned to her for help. Every place I could think of, I’ve searched.

And still, nothing.

She’s a ghost. A phantom. My wife has disappeared without a trace. She hasn’t used a single credit card or touched our accounts. There isn’t a single digital footprint for me to follow. She knows me too well. I’d track down every trail, chase every lead, and turn over every stone to find her. So she’s made sure there’s nothing for me to find… Because she doesn’t want to be found.

I pace the foyer of the penthouse with uneven steps, the bottle of Macallan in my hand half-empty. In the bedroom, the whiskey pulling at my balance, I take another drink. The burn crawls down my throat, doing nothing to dull the ache inside me. Misjudging the distance, I slam the bottle onto Sophia’s nightstand when I set it down, rattling the lamp beside it.

After picking up her pillow, I press it to my face and breathe the faint trace of her soft lavender scent still lingering in the fabric. God, I fucking miss her. I close my eyes and draw in another breath, letting her fill my lungs, desperate for this small piece of her. For the briefest of moments, it almost feels like she’s here; like if I opened my eyes I’d find her curled beneath the blankets. Lowering the pillow from my face, I’m met with the emptiness of our bedroom and something in my snaps.

“FUCK!” I roar, grabbing the bottle off the nightstand and hurling it across the room with everything I’m feeling. It strikes the wall with a violent crack. The bottle shatters on impact, the glass exploding as whiskey splashes across the paint. Amber rivulets snake down the wall as shards of the bottle rain across the hardwood.