Adrian’s POV
I find Sophie in our bedroom getting ready for bed, a routine we've barely maintained since Amelia was born. She's at the vanity removing makeup with careful strokes, wearing one of my old t-shirts that hangs loose on her frame.
The domestic normalcy of it—her here, me unbuttoning my shirt across the room—feels almost like before. Like we might still be the people who chose each other.
Mom's words echo in my head. ‘You're losing her. Figure it out. Fast.’
"Can we talk?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle.
Sophie's hand pauses mid-swipe with the makeup remover. "About what?"
"Us." I pull my shirt off, toss it toward the hamper. "About how things have been. I know…" I stop, choose my words carefully. "I know things aren't working right now. The distance between us—I want to fix it."
She sets down the cotton pad, turns slightly in her chair to face me. Her expression is guarded but not hostile. "Okay."
The fragile opening feels like stepping onto ice I'm not sure will hold my weight.
I move closer, lean against the dresser. "I miss you. Miss us. I feel like we're just... existing in the same space without actually connecting anymore."
"We haven't connected in months, Adrian." Her voice is quiet, matter-of-fact. "Not really. Not since before…" She gestures vaguely toward the nursery.
"I know, and I want to change that, I want to understand what you need from me. How to make this better."
Sophie studies my face for a long moment. "Do you really want to know? Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?"
"I really want to know."
She takes a breath. "I need you to be present. Actually present, not just physically here. I need you to look at Amelia and see your daughter instead of an obligation. I need you to look at me and see your partner instead of…"
Her voice cracks slightly. "Instead of someone you're just tolerating until you can escape."
"That's not fair." The defensiveness rises automatically. "I don't escape. I'm here. I change diapers, I do night feedings when you ask—"
"When I ask." Sophie's eyes flash. "That's exactly the problem. You do things when I force you to, when I explicitly request it. But you never just... step up on your own. You never anticipate what needs to be done. You wait to be told like you're an employee, not a father."
"Because I don't know what I'm doing!" The admission bursts out of me. "You act like this all comes naturally to you, but it doesn't to me. I'm trying to learn, trying to figure it out, but you get frustrated when I don't do it exactly right."
"I'm not asking for perfect, I'm asking for effort." Sophie stands, frustration clear in her movements. "But every time Amelia cries, you look for an exit. Every time I need support, you retreat to your study. You're more invested in your phone than in our daughter."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" She crosses her arms. "When was the last time you held her without me handing her to you first? When was the last time you soothed her when she was crying? You can't even answer because you don't remember. It's always me or Bellamy or your mother."
I feel my jaw tighten. "You're being dramatic. At least I've been trying—that’s more than most men give."
"Oh, well thank you for your sacrifice, Adrian, we’ll make sure to erect a monument to you!" Sophie's voice rises. "How don’t you understand that I need you to actually succeed at being a father, not just attempt it when convenient."
"And what about you?" The words come out harsher than intended. "You think you're doing so great? You admitted yourself you don't even love her. At least I'm honest about my struggles instead of pretending I'm mother of the year."
Sophie flinches like I've struck her. "That's not… I never said—"
"You said exactly that—that you don't feel what you're supposed to feel. So don't stand there acting superior when we're both drowning in the same shit."
"At least I'm trying to learn how to swim!" Sophie's hands shake as she gestures. "You're just... letting yourself sink and expecting everyone else to save you. That's what you do, Adrian. You create problems and expect other people to fix them while you maintain your perfect detachment."
"I'm not detached."
"You suggested we ignore our crying daughter to finish having sex!" The accusation explodes out of her. "If that's not detachment, what is? You literally prioritized getting off over her distress!"
"For five goddamn minutes! I asked for five minutes of reconnection with you!"
"She's three months old!" Sophie is shouting now, tears streaming down her face. "She can't wait five minutes, she doesn't understand time or patience or your fucking need for control! She just knows she needs something and her parents won't come!"
"I'm here every day!" I'm shouting too now, all pretense of calm conversation abandoned. "I gave up my career for this, I'm trapped in this apartment just like you are, but somehow that's not enough."
"Because you resent it" Sophie's voice breaks. "You resent Amelia for existing, me for getting pregnant, you resent this entire life we've built and you can't even hide it anymore. Every time you look at us, I see it in your face—you wish you could go back, wish you never met me."
The words hang in the air, and I don't deny them fast enough.
Sophie sees my hesitation. Something in her expression shifts from anger to something worse. Resignation.
"That's what I thought." Her voice goes flat. "At least now I know."
"Sophie—"
"Don't." She holds up a hand. "Just… don't."
She turns away, moves to the bed. Grabs her pillow with sharp, decisive movements that communicate finality.
"Where are you going?" Confusion and anger mix in my voice.
Sophie heads for the door without looking back. "I'm sleeping in the living room tonight."
"We're not done talking."
"Yes, we are." She stops at the threshold, hand on the doorknob. "I can't do this anymore, Adrian. I can't keep trying to make you want us when it's clear you don't."
"That's not… I didn't say that! I never said that!"
"You didn't have to." Her voice is eerily calm now. "Your silence said it all."
The door slams behind her with enough force to rattle the frame.
I stand alone in our bedroom, staring at where she was moments ago. The vanity still has her makeup scattered across it. Her presence lingers in the air—her scent, her energy, her accusations that cut too close to truths I don't want to examine.
I wanted to fix things. Followed Mom's advice, tried to communicate, tried to bridge the gap between us.
Instead, I've driven Sophie further away. Confirmed every fear she's been harboring about my commitment, my feelings, my ability to be what she needs.
Every effort I make seems to create more damage. Every attempt to connect only highlights how broken I am.
I could follow her, could apologize, try to take back words that can't be unsaid. Could promise to do better, be better, want this more.
But what would be the point? She'd know I was lying. I'd know I was lying.
Because she's right. When I think about going back, about choosing not to meet her, part of me—a secret part I can't kill no matter how hard I try—would choose the solitude. The control, the quiet, ordered life before Sophie and Amelia turned everything into chaos.
I don't follow her.