Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 52

Elena: POV

I stared at Sophia, her words hanging in the air between us like something tangible I could almost touch.

*Take him for everything you can.*

My hands tightened in my lap. "I don't want his money."

Sophia's eyes widened. "Elena—"

"I mean it." The words came out quieter than I intended. "If I take his money, it just proves what he's always thought. That I married him for this. For wealth, for status, for a fucking exit strategy."

"So what?" Sophia leaned forward, gripping my shoulders. "Let him think whatever he wants. You deserve compensation for three years of—"

"I don't want it." My voice was flat now. Final.

Sophia stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

"You're being stupid," she said bluntly. "You didn't get love from this marriage. The least you can do is walk away with enough money to secure your future. To give your baby a good life."

I looked down at my hands. At the invisible weight pressing against my stomach.

"Taking nothing isn't noble, Elena. It's just punishing yourself."

She grabbed my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. "If I were you, I'd make them pay. Before I leave, I'd give everyone who ever looked down on me a lesson they'd never forget. His mother, that bitch Victoria, all of them."

I said nothing.

Sophia's grip softened. "You don't owe them dignity. Not after what they've done."

"I'm not trying to be noble." The words came slowly. "And I'm not trying to punish myself. I just..." I swallowed hard. "I didn't marry him for money, Soph. I never did."

I closed my eyes. Saw Julian's face that first time I'd really looked at him—twelve years old, standing in the Connecticut estate's garden with sunlight turning his hair gold. I'd been ten. A child. The housekeeper's adopted daughter watching the master's son from the servants' quarters.

"He was like the moon," I whispered. "Hanging in the night sky, so far away it hurt to look at him. But sometimes... sometimes he'd shine down and light up the darkness. Just for a second. And I'd think maybe, just maybe, I could reach him."

Sophia's hand found mine.

"But you can't hold the moon." My voice broke. "You can't drag it down from the sky and cage it. The only things that ever get close to the moon are stars—other celestial beings, born in the same universe. And me?"

A harsh laugh tore from my throat. "I was never gonna be his star. I was just some stupid girl with dirt under her fingernails, standing in the dark, reaching for something I had no right to touch."

The silence that followed was heavy.

"I can support myself," I said finally, straightening my spine. "I have my job. My degree. I can earn my own money. After I leave him, I'll be fine. The baby and I—we'll be fine."

Sophia studied my face for a long moment. Then she pulled me into her arms, one hand stroking my hair.

"You're fucking stubborn, you know that?" Her voice was thick. "But I get it. I do."

She pulled back, cupping my face. "My friend's gonna be okay no matter what path she chooses. And if things get rough?" She smiled through tears. "I can take care of you. Both of you."

My throat tightened. "Sophia—"

"I'm serious."

"Can I..." I hesitated. "Can I stay here for a while? Just for the week before Grandfather's birthday party? I need space to think. To plan."

"Stay as long as you want." Sophia squeezed my hand. "You don't even have to ask."

Relief flooded through me. "Thank you."

We sat there for a moment, hands clasped, two women trying to hold each other up while their worlds crumbled.

Then something shifted in my chest. A small spark of purpose.

"I want to design something for Grandfather," I said suddenly.

Sophia blinked. "What?"

"A suit. Or maybe a vest—something special for his birthday." My hands moved on their own, already sketching invisible patterns in the air. "He's always been so good to me, Soph.

Right from the start, he never treated me like I was just the housekeeper's daughter. He'd save me the best desserts at dinner, ask about my day, call me his favorite granddaughter even though we weren't blood-related."

My vision blurred with tears. "If I've wronged anyone in that family, it's never been him. He's the only one who's ever really seen me."

Sophia's expression softened. "Then you should absolutely do it. Create something beautiful for him."

"I will." The words felt like a vow. "It's the least I can do. The only thing I can do that matters."

---

We talked for another hour. Sophia made me eat actual food (leftover from a container she microwaved), forced me to drink water, and insisted I take a long, hot shower.

The water felt like absolution. Like maybe I could wash away the hospital, the accusations, Julian's hands on me that were both everything and nothing I wanted.

When I emerged in borrowed pajamas—Sophia's old Columbia hoodie and soft cotton shorts—she'd already made up the guest room.

"Actually," she said, catching my arm. "You're sleeping with me tonight. Guest room's kind of a mess anyway."

I wanted to protest. To insist I'd be fine alone.

But the truth was, I didn't want to be alone. Not tonight.

"Okay," I whispered.

Her bedroom was surprisingly cozy—fairy lights strung along the exposed brick, plants on every surface, a massive bed piled with pillows and a thick duvet. It smelled like lavender and safety.

We climbed in together, and she turned on some mindless sitcom on her laptop. The laugh track filled the space between us.

"Everything's going to be okay," Sophia murmured, half to me, half to herself. "You'll see. It's all going to work out."

I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It will be."

The lie tasted like ash, but I swallowed it down.

---

My eyes cracked open as I heard the sound of vibrating. The laptop had gone to sleep, leaving only the glow of Sophia's phone on the nightstand, lighting up her face in harsh white light.

She was sitting up in bed, staring at the screen like it was a live grenade.

I watched through barely-open lids as she read whatever message had come through. Watched her entire body go rigid.

Then she was moving—carefully, quietly, like she was trying not to wake me. She grabbed a hoodie from the chair, pulled it on over her tank top, and slipped her feet into sneakers.

Her hands shook as she picked up her phone again, typing something fast.

*What the hell?*

I kept my breathing even. Slow. Pretending to sleep.

Sophia glanced back at me once, then tiptoed toward the door.

It opened. Closed. The lock clicked softly.

I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.

It was past midnight. Maybe closer to one.

What kind of emergency would have Sophia sneaking out of her own apartment in the middle of the night?

And why had she looked so unsettled?