Chapter 96 — Anger
I don't remember how long I stay on the floor.
Time doesn't feel real anymore.
It stretches, distorts—minutes turning into something heavier, something slower. The world outside continues like nothing has changed, but inside me, everything is breaking apart in ways I can't control.
My hand is still pressed against my stomach.
I don't even realize I've been holding it there until my fingers start to ache.
A baby.
His baby.
The thought slams into me again, harder this time, because now there is no confusion left to hide behind.
No "what if."
No "maybe."
Just truth.
Harley.
A sharp, broken laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
Of course it was him.
Of course it had always been him.
Even when I didn't remember, even when I tried to make sense of something that felt out of reach—my body had known.
That night… I remember fragments now.
Not clearly. Not in full.
But enough.
The warmth of his arms.
The way his voice had softened.
The way I hadn't been afraid.
That's what hurts the most.
I wasn't afraid.
Because it was him.
And he knew.
My chest tightens so painfully I have to curl forward slightly, my breath coming uneven.
"You knew…" I whisper into the empty room.
The words sound hollow.
Betrayed.
Because that's what it is.
Not just a mistake.
Not just fear.
A choice.
He chose not to tell me.
He chose to let me live in confusion while he carried the truth alone.
Anger rises slowly at first.
A quiet burn beneath everything else.
Then it spreads.
Faster.
Hotter.
Until it consumes everything in its path.
"How could you do that to me?" I say, louder this time.
The silence doesn't answer.
Of course it doesn't.
Harley isn't here anymore.
He left.
Just like I asked.
That realization makes something twist sharply in my chest.
I push it away immediately.
No.
No, I'm not going to feel guilty for that.
Not after what he did.
I force myself to stand, my legs shaky beneath me. The room feels too small, too suffocating, like the walls are pressing in.
I need air.
I grab my coat without thinking and step out of the apartment.
The hallway feels colder than usual.
Or maybe that's just me.
I don't wait for the elevator. I take the stairs, moving too fast, my thoughts racing ahead of me in a blur of anger and hurt and something dangerously close to grief.
By the time I reach the street, my chest is tight, my breathing uneven.
I don't know where I'm going.
I just walk.
The city noise hits me all at once—cars passing, people talking, the distant hum of life continuing like nothing has changed.
It makes me feel… invisible.
Like I could disappear right here, and no one would notice.
My steps slow.
My hand drifts back to my stomach again.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I whisper.
And that—
that might be the most honest thing I've said all day.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I ignore it at first.
Then it vibrates again.
And again.
I pull it out, my fingers slightly unsteady.
Samuel.
Of course.
For a second, I hesitate.
Then I answer.
"Sophie?" His voice is immediate, tense. "Where are you?"
"I'm outside."
"Outside where?"
"I don't know."
There's a pause.
Then, calmer but still tight with concern, "Stay where you are. I'm coming to you."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm already on my way."
The call ends before I can argue.
I stare at the screen for a moment before lowering the phone.
A part of me feels relief.
Another part feels something heavier.
Because Samuel is always there.
Always steady.
Always ready to come when I call—even when I don't.
And right now…
I don't know if that makes things better or worse.
I find a bench near the sidewalk and sit down, my hands clasped together tightly in my lap.
The anger is still there.
Sharp.
Unsettled.
But underneath it, something else is forming.
Something more complicated.
Because no matter how angry I am…
I can't erase what I felt when Harley said he loved me.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
"Stop," I whisper to myself.
This is exactly how I get pulled back in.
This is exactly how I get hurt again.
Footsteps approach quickly.
I look up just as Samuel reaches me.
His expression shifts the moment he sees my face.
Concern. Tension. Something deeper.
"What happened?" he asks, moving closer.
I let out a shaky breath.
"He told me."
Samuel stills.
"He told you… everything?"
I nod.
For a moment, Samuel doesn't speak.
Then his jaw tightens.
"And?" he asks quietly.
The single word feels heavier than it should.
"And I hate him," I say.
It comes out too fast.
Too sharp.
Too absolute.
Samuel watches me carefully.
"You don't sound like you hate him."
"I do," I insist, my voice rising. "He lied to me. He let me sit there, confused, scared, trying to piece together something that he already knew. He made that choice, Samuel. He chose himself over me."
Samuel's expression doesn't change, but I see the flicker of something in his eyes.
Understanding.
But also restraint.
"And that's not something I can just forgive," I continue, my chest tightening again. "It's not something I can just move past like it didn't matter."
"No," Samuel says quietly. "It's not."
I blink at him.
I expected… something else.
Defensiveness. Maybe even a push toward himself.
But he doesn't take that path.
"He hurt you," Samuel says. "And you have every right to be angry about that."
The validation hits harder than I expect.
Because part of me was bracing for conflict.
Instead, I get understanding.
And somehow, that makes the emotions inside me unravel even more.
"I don't know what to do," I admit, my voice breaking slightly. "I thought knowing the truth would make things clearer, but it just made everything worse."
Samuel sits beside me.
Not too close.
Just enough.
"Because now it's real," he says.
I nod weakly.
"Yes."
We sit in silence for a moment, the city moving around us.
Then Samuel says, "What are you feeling right now?"
I let out a bitter laugh. "Everything."
He glances at me. "Try to name it."
I swallow.
"Angry," I say first.
"That makes sense."
"Hurt."
He nods slightly.
"Betrayed."
His jaw tightens.
"And…" I hesitate.
Samuel doesn't rush me.
I look down at my hands.
"Still in love with him," I whisper.
The words feel like they tear something open.
Samuel goes completely still beside me.
I don't look at him.
I can't.
Because saying it out loud makes it real in a way I can't take back.
"I hate that," I add, my voice shaking. "I hate that after everything, after what he did, I still feel like this."
Samuel exhales slowly.
When he speaks, his voice is steady—but quieter than before.
"Feelings don't disappear just because someone makes a mistake."
"A mistake?" I repeat, sharper this time. "That wasn't just a mistake."
"I know," he says. "But it also wasn't simple."
I turn to him, frustration rising again.
"Why are you defending him?"
"I'm not."
"It sounds like it."
Samuel meets my gaze.
"I'm trying to help you understand your own feelings," he says calmly. "Not tell you what to do with them."
That stops me.
Because that's exactly what he's been doing all along.
Not pushing.
Not pulling.
Just… standing beside me while I fall apart.
"I don't want to understand," I say quietly. "I just want it to stop hurting."
Samuel's expression softens.
"I know."
His hand moves slightly, like he's about to reach for mine.
Then he stops himself.
That small hesitation doesn't go unnoticed.
It hurts in a different way.
Because I know why he stopped.
Because now he knows.
I close my eyes briefly.
"I told you last night I didn't want to use you," I say.
"You're not."
"I am," I insist. "Because right now, being here with you feels easier than facing him."
Samuel is quiet for a moment.
Then he says, "And what does being with him feel like?"
I don't answer immediately.
Because I already know.
"It feels like everything," I whisper.
The words settle heavily between us.
Samuel nods slowly, like he expected that answer.
"And everything isn't always easy," he says.
I let out a shaky breath. "No. It's not."
We sit there, side by side, the weight of everything pressing down around us.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," I admit.
Samuel looks at me.
"You don't have to decide today."
I nod slightly.
But something inside me knows that's not entirely true.
Because every moment I wait…
I'm still choosing something.
Silence.
Distance.
Avoidance.
And maybe that's a choice too.
My hand drifts back to my stomach again.
Samuel's gaze follows the movement, his expression softening.
"Whatever you decide," he says quietly, "you're not alone in this."
The words are kind.
Steady.
Safe.
And for a moment, I let myself lean into that.
Because I need something to hold onto.
Even if it's temporary.
Even if it's not the answer.
But deep inside—
beneath the anger, beneath the confusion, beneath everything—
something is shifting.
Not toward peace.
Not yet.
But toward something inevitable.
Something I can't avoid forever.
The truth didn't give me clarity.
It gave me a choice.
And now…
I have to live with it.