Chapter 11
After that night, Alexander did not go home.
He stayed.
He slept in the chair beside my bed with his hand wrapped around mine, and every time I woke up gasping in the dark, he was there. Awake. Watching me. Like if he blinked, I might disappear.
In the morning, there were thirty-seven missed calls on his phone.
Meredith. Victoria. Meredith again. Victoria again.
He looked at the screen. Then he turned the phone off and set it face down on the table.
"Alexander," I said quietly. "You have a wedding in three weeks."
"There is no wedding."
"Alexander—"
"There is no wedding, Sophia." His voice was steady, but his eyes were not. "There was never going to be a real wedding. Not with her. Not with anyone. Not when you—"
He stopped.
I watched him fight for control.
"I need to talk to my mother," he said finally. "I need to hear her say it to my face."
"Don't."
"Don't?" He stared at me. "She destroyed your life. She destroyed mine. She let me think you betrayed me and then watched me treat you like garbage. You want me to do nothing?"
"I want you to stay here. With me." My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. "I have two months. I don't want to spend them watching you tear yourself apart."
He went very still.
Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead.
He kept them there for a long time.
"Okay," he whispered against my skin. "Okay. I'll stay."
But he did not stay calm.
Over the next three days, I watched the rage build in him like a storm surge. He hid it well, but I knew him too deeply to be fooled.
Every time his phone lit up with Victoria's name, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitch.
Every time Meredith's messages came through, pleading, confused, then angry, he deleted them without reading.
On the fourth day, Victoria came to my apartment.
She did not knock. She simply opened the door, the way she had always moved through the world: as if every space belonged to her.
"Alexander." Her voice was clipped. "What are you doing? Meredith has been calling for days. The caterers need final numbers. The florist—"
She stopped.
Because she had seen us.
Alexander sitting on the edge of my bed. My hand in his. An IV pole beside me that my home nurse had set up that morning.
Victoria's face went white.
"What is this?" she said.
Alexander stood slowly.
"Close the door, Mom."
Something in his voice made her obey without argument.
She closed the door.
She stepped inside.
She looked at me, then at Alexander, then at the medical equipment surrounding my bed.
"I don't understand," she said. "What's happening? Is she—"
"Dying," Alexander said. "She's dying."
Victoria flinched.
"That's... I'm sorry to hear that, but what does it have to do with—"
"She's dying because she donated her bone marrow to Ethan three times. And then she developed leukemia as a direct result."
The room went silent.
Victoria's purse slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.
"You knew," Alexander continued. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "You knew she was the donor. You knew the third extraction was dangerous. You begged her to do it anyway. And then, after she saved your son's life, you told me she was a thief and a cheater and you drove her away."
Victoria's mouth opened.
"Alexander, I can explain—"
"Did you or did you not tell Sophia to leave?"
"It wasn't like that—"
"Did you or did you not fabricate the story about stolen money?"
"I was trying to protect you—"
"DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT DESTROY THE ONLY PERSON WHO LOVED ME ENOUGH TO DIE FOR YOUR FAMILY?"
His voice shattered the room.
Victoria staggered backward.
Tears ran down her face, but Alexander looked at her like she was nothing.
"Get out," he said.
"Alexander, please—"
"Get out of this apartment. Get out of my life. If you come near Sophia again, I will tell Ethan exactly what his life cost. Every detail. Let him live with it."
Victoria's face crumpled.
She looked at me one last time.
I said nothing.
She picked up her purse and left.
The door clicked shut.
Alexander stood motionless for a long moment.
Then his shoulders caved inward and he broke.
I held out my arms and he came to me, folding himself against me like a man half his size, his face pressed into the hollow of my neck, his tears soaking through my shirt.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I held him.
I held him and stroked his hair and said nothing, because there was nothing to say.
He stayed.
He slept in the chair beside my bed with his hand wrapped around mine, and every time I woke up gasping in the dark, he was there. Awake. Watching me. Like if he blinked, I might disappear.
In the morning, there were thirty-seven missed calls on his phone.
Meredith. Victoria. Meredith again. Victoria again.
He looked at the screen. Then he turned the phone off and set it face down on the table.
"Alexander," I said quietly. "You have a wedding in three weeks."
"There is no wedding."
"Alexander—"
"There is no wedding, Sophia." His voice was steady, but his eyes were not. "There was never going to be a real wedding. Not with her. Not with anyone. Not when you—"
He stopped.
I watched him fight for control.
"I need to talk to my mother," he said finally. "I need to hear her say it to my face."
"Don't."
"Don't?" He stared at me. "She destroyed your life. She destroyed mine. She let me think you betrayed me and then watched me treat you like garbage. You want me to do nothing?"
"I want you to stay here. With me." My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. "I have two months. I don't want to spend them watching you tear yourself apart."
He went very still.
Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead.
He kept them there for a long time.
"Okay," he whispered against my skin. "Okay. I'll stay."
But he did not stay calm.
Over the next three days, I watched the rage build in him like a storm surge. He hid it well, but I knew him too deeply to be fooled.
Every time his phone lit up with Victoria's name, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitch.
Every time Meredith's messages came through, pleading, confused, then angry, he deleted them without reading.
On the fourth day, Victoria came to my apartment.
She did not knock. She simply opened the door, the way she had always moved through the world: as if every space belonged to her.
"Alexander." Her voice was clipped. "What are you doing? Meredith has been calling for days. The caterers need final numbers. The florist—"
She stopped.
Because she had seen us.
Alexander sitting on the edge of my bed. My hand in his. An IV pole beside me that my home nurse had set up that morning.
Victoria's face went white.
"What is this?" she said.
Alexander stood slowly.
"Close the door, Mom."
Something in his voice made her obey without argument.
She closed the door.
She stepped inside.
She looked at me, then at Alexander, then at the medical equipment surrounding my bed.
"I don't understand," she said. "What's happening? Is she—"
"Dying," Alexander said. "She's dying."
Victoria flinched.
"That's... I'm sorry to hear that, but what does it have to do with—"
"She's dying because she donated her bone marrow to Ethan three times. And then she developed leukemia as a direct result."
The room went silent.
Victoria's purse slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.
"You knew," Alexander continued. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "You knew she was the donor. You knew the third extraction was dangerous. You begged her to do it anyway. And then, after she saved your son's life, you told me she was a thief and a cheater and you drove her away."
Victoria's mouth opened.
"Alexander, I can explain—"
"Did you or did you not tell Sophia to leave?"
"It wasn't like that—"
"Did you or did you not fabricate the story about stolen money?"
"I was trying to protect you—"
"DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT DESTROY THE ONLY PERSON WHO LOVED ME ENOUGH TO DIE FOR YOUR FAMILY?"
His voice shattered the room.
Victoria staggered backward.
Tears ran down her face, but Alexander looked at her like she was nothing.
"Get out," he said.
"Alexander, please—"
"Get out of this apartment. Get out of my life. If you come near Sophia again, I will tell Ethan exactly what his life cost. Every detail. Let him live with it."
Victoria's face crumpled.
She looked at me one last time.
I said nothing.
She picked up her purse and left.
The door clicked shut.
Alexander stood motionless for a long moment.
Then his shoulders caved inward and he broke.
I held out my arms and he came to me, folding himself against me like a man half his size, his face pressed into the hollow of my neck, his tears soaking through my shirt.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I held him.
I held him and stroked his hair and said nothing, because there was nothing to say.