When Love Dies, I Rise

Chapter 6

After what felt like an eternity on the phone, John finally walked out, looking apologetic. "Hey, babe, sorry about that. My business partner just called—some last-minute stuff. I've got to head out right away."

He made a beeline for the door, barely glancing at her, as though she wasn't even there. Sophia quickly called after him, "Are you planning to pick Mia up later?"

John froze mid-step. For a split second, hesitation flickered across his face, but he quickly brushed it aside. "Probably not," he said, his tone almost rehearsed. "Looks like I'll be pulling another all-nighter. You'll have to grab her for me, okay? Thanks, babe."

"Are you serious right now? You're just going to leave?" Her voice cracked, and she couldn't hide the disappointment any longer. "How long has it been since you picked her up? Since you stayed home overnight? Spent real time with your family? Do you even know?"

His hand faltered as he bent down to put on his shoes. For a brief moment, it seemed like her words had reached him, like he might actually stay. But then his phone buzzed, shattering the silence like a slap in the face.

They both glanced at the flashing screen. The persistent ringing was unbearable—sharp, invasive, and unrelenting. Sophia clenched her fists, fighting the wave of nausea that churned in her stomach.

John silenced the call, muttering, "I really can't stay today. I'll pick Mia up next time, okay?" His words were quick, automatic, devoid of sincerity.

He turned the doorknob, ready to leave. Desperation surged through her as she stood up and called after him, her voice barely above a whisper, "John, do you even remember why we named our daughter Mia?"

His hand froze on the knob. For the first time in what felt like forever, he hesitated. Turning back with a faint smile, he replied, "Of course I remember. It's because 'John loves Sophia.'"

"And yet you're still leaving," she said softly, a bitter edge to her tone.

"Babe, working late doesn't mean I don't love you or Mia," he said, flashing her that same tired smile. "Be good, okay? Once I'm done with this, I'll spend time with you both, I promise."

He didn't wait for a reply. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the empty room.

Sophia stood there, frozen, staring blankly at the closed door. Silent tears traced down her cheeks, but she didn't even notice.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that, her legs stiff and aching. By the time she moved, the food on the table had gone cold.

In the kitchen, she reheated the dishes. She had no appetite, but she forced herself to eat, even as the food tasted bitter in her mouth. She couldn't afford to break down—Mia still needed her.

At the kindergarten gate, while waiting for her daughter, another parent approached her with an eager smile. "Hi, you're Mr. John's wife, right?"

"Yes," she replied, her tone neutral but polite. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, no, no, nothing like that!" the parent said quickly, glancing around as though checking for eavesdroppers. "I just got so excited when I saw you. Your husband's not coming today?"

"No, he's not," she said, her voice clipped.

"That's a shame! I was hoping to talk to him. His recent art exhibition was incredible. I went to see it—absolutely stunning! Those portraits, especially, were so moving. You could tell he poured his heart into them. They must've been inspired by you, right?"

The parent paused, squinting at her face as if comparing it to something. "But now that I look closer… Hmm, they don't really look like you. Actually, the more I think about it, they don't look like you at all…"

Before the parent could continue, another adult stepped in, placing a hand on their shoulder. "Honey, stop chatting. It's time to pick up the kids," the newcomer said, frowning slightly and shaking his head.

The first parent clamped their mouths shut instantly, throwing an apologetic glance at Sophia. "Sorry about that," the newcomer said to her. "My wife tends to get carried away. She's mixing things up again—it wasn't your husband's exhibition we saw. Sorry for the confusion."

"Oh?" Sophia raised an eyebrow, her voice steady. "Where was this exhibition? I'd love to check out such impressive art."

The man scratched his head, looking sheepish. "You know, now that you ask, I can't remember either. My bad. We've got to grab our kid—maybe next time!"

They hurried off before she could press further, their retreat almost comically quick.

Watching them go, she let out a dry, humorless laugh. They acted as though staying a second longer might let something slip, something she wouldn't be able to handle.

Just then, Mia bounded out of the kindergarten line, scanning the crowd with hopeful eyes. Not seeing her father, her face fell. "Daddy didn't come again, did he?"

"No, sweetheart," Sophia said softly, smoothing her daughter's hair. "But Mommy made something special for dinner tonight. Let's go home."

Mia reached for her mother's hand, nuzzling against it like a kitten seeking comfort. "Mommy, you're the best."

Hand in hand, they walked home. In the warmth of that touch, they found solace, each healing the other's wounded heart in silent understanding.