CHAPTER 9 – THE RETURN TO THE PENTHOUSE
Two months later, Sophia returned to the penthouse.
Not alone.
Ethan came with her. Claire too. A therapist waited downstairs in case the visit became too much. The baby moved gently beneath Sophia’s hand as the elevator opened.
The living room was repaired.
The champagne stain was gone.
The glass shards were gone.
The round side table had been replaced by the same model because Sophia insisted the room would not be redesigned around fear.
The cream sofa remained.
The tall windows still showed the ocean.
The chandelier still caught daylight.
But the memory was there.
Sophia stood near the spot where she had fallen and breathed carefully.
Ethan stayed near the double doors at first, because he wanted her to feel she controlled the space. Claire stood by the windows, pretending to examine the view while watching everything.
Sophia walked to the round glass side table.
A new champagne flute sat on it, empty.
Claire had questioned that choice.
Sophia had insisted.
She picked up the flute and held it in both hands.
Her fingers shook.
Then steadied.
“I thought I would hate it,” she said.
Ethan’s voice was quiet. “Do you?”
She looked around the room.
“No. I hate what happened here.”
That distinction mattered.
She set the flute down carefully.
The sound of glass touching glass did not break her.
Ethan’s eyes filled.
Sophia turned toward him. “I need you to understand something.”
“Anything.”
“If I say someone makes me afraid, you believe me before there is proof on the floor.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Not because I’m pregnant. Not because I’m your wife. Because I’m a person.”
His voice broke. “Yes.”
Claire looked away then, giving them privacy.
Sophia stepped into Ethan’s arms. He held her gently, one hand at her back, the other nowhere near her belly until she guided it there herself.
The baby moved.
May you like
Ethan cried.
And for the first time since the attack, the penthouse felt less like a crime scene and more like a room where truth had survived.
