Chapter 15 - THE EMPTY NIGHT
The apartment felt wrong without Sophie.
Emma hated admitting it.
She made tea.
Did not drink it.
Opened a book.
Read the same page six times.
At eleven, she checked her phone.
No messages.
Nathan had promised to call only if necessary.
Emma should have been relieved.
Instead, she stared at the screen.
At 11:17, she texted.
Everything okay?
Nathan replied thirty seconds later.
Perfect. She ate. She yelled at me. She won.
Emma laughed.
A photograph followed.
Sophie was asleep against Nathan’s chest.
Nathan himself looked exhausted.
Emma stared at it longer than necessary.
Then another message arrived.
Go to sleep. We’re okay.
Emma whispered, “We.”
That word frightened her.
The next morning, Nathan brought Sophie home at eight.
Exactly eight.
Not 7:45.
Not 8:20.
Eight.
Emma opened the door.
Nathan smiled.
“Morning.”
“How was she?”
“Judgmental.”
Emma took Sophie.
Nathan handed over a notebook.
She frowned.
“What’s this?”
“Feedings.”
“Diapers.”
“Sleep.”
“Temperature.”
Emma stared at the detailed handwritten pages.
“You made a log?”
Nathan looked embarrassed.
“I didn’t know what you’d want to know.”
Emma laughed.
Actually laughed.
Nathan froze.
The sound changed his entire face.
Emma stopped when she saw the way he looked at her.
The room became quiet.
Nathan took one step backward.
“I should go.”
Emma nodded.
He turned.
Then she spoke.
“Coffee?”
Nathan stopped.
Emma almost regretted it.
“You can stay for coffee.”
Nathan looked at her carefully.
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes.”
They sat in the tiny kitchen.
No relationship discussion.
No apologies.
No Olivia.
No company.
They talked about Sophie.
Then college.
Then the terrible apartment Nathan had rented when they first met.
Emma remembered his broken refrigerator.
Nathan remembered her threatening to report his landlord.
For an hour, they sounded like themselves.
The old selves.
Before money.
Before resentment.
Before the silence.
Nathan left at ten.
Emma watched him go.
That evening, Eleanor called.
“I have something that belongs to you.”
Emma frowned.
“What?”
“The ring.”
Emma went still.
“I’ve had it since the gala.”
“You gave it back to Nathan.”
“He returned it to me.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Eleanor continued.
“He said it wasn’t his to hold anymore.”
Emma could not speak.
“I’m coming to Oregon next week.”
“No pressure.”
“No expectation.”
“But I think you should decide what happens to it.”
Emma looked toward the drawer containing Nathan’s blue scarf.
For months, the wedding ring had represented everything she escaped.
May you like
Now, for the first time, she wondered whether an object could survive a broken promise.
Or whether promises, like people, sometimes had to become something completely new.
