Bellamy’s POV
I arrive at eight AM, later than usual. Had to drop Noah at my nanny’s place across town, and traffic was worse than expected. The key turns smoothly in the lock—I've made this entrance hundreds of times over the past months. Routine.
Except the apartment is wrong. Too quiet.
"Sophie? Adrian?" I call out, closing the door. "Sorry I'm late."
No answer.
My eyes catch on white paper against the dark counter. Folded once. I recognize Adrian's handwriting before reading the words.
I need time to think. Alone. I'm sorry. - A
Ice runs through my veins. Last night's conversation crashes back—his strange questions, the formal handshake, thanking me for what I'll do. Future tense.
He wasn't confronting me. He was saying goodbye.
The fucking coward.
"SOPHIE!" I move through the apartment quickly. Study—empty. Bedroom—empty. Then I hear it from the nursery. Not crying. Worse. Silence except for the white noise machine.
I push open the door.
Sophie sits on the floor, back against the wall, Amelia asleep against her chest. At first I think she's just resting. Then I see her face.
Eyes open but vacant. Dried tears cutting through yesterday's makeup. Mascara streaked down her cheeks. She's not here. Just a shell, broken beyond immediate repair.
"Sophie." I kneel beside her, voice gentle. "How long have you been sitting here?"
No response, just staring at nothing.
I glance at Amelia—the baby is sleeping peacefully, completely unaware her father abandoned them hours ago. Her tiny face is peaceful against Sophie's chest, trust absolute.
"Sophie," I try again. "I need to take Amelia. Put her in the crib. Okay?"
Still no response. I move slowly, telegraphing my movements. Slide my hands gently under Amelia, supporting her head as I lift her from Sophie's arms. The baby stirs, whimpers softly but doesn't wake.
I carry her to the crib, lay her down with practiced care, adjust the blanket.
Then I return to Sophie. Lower myself to sit beside her on the floor, back against the wall, maintaining careful distance.
"How long have you been here?"
Her voice comes hollow. "Since I found the note."
I check my watch. "What time?"
"Six. Maybe six-fifteen." Her voice cracks. "He's been gone for four hours. Maybe five."
My hand finds hers. She doesn't acknowledge the contact.
She turns toward me suddenly, violently, and the sobs come. Months of holding it together, of being strong, of surviving—all of it shatters at once. She collapses into my shoulder, body shaking with the force of her crying.
I wrap my arms around her, hold her together while she falls apart. My fury at Adrian is a living thing, coiled tight in my chest, but I keep my voice calm. Soothing. What she needs right now isn't my rage.
"He just left." The words come out between sobs, muffled against my shoulder. "Didn't even say it to my face. Just a fucking note."
I hold her tighter, one hand stroking her back in slow circles. "I know. I know."
When the first wave passes, she pulls back slightly. Her eyes are swollen, face blotchy, makeup completely destroyed. She looks at me with something between desperation and accusation.
"Did you know? Last night when he talked to you—did you know he was going to leave?"
I can't lie to her. Won't start this—whatever this is—with lies.
"He was preparing," I admit. "Making sure you'd be taken care of. I didn't know exactly then, but now…”
Sophie's laugh is bitter, almost hysterical.
"Taken care of? He abandoned us. Left me alone with a three-month-old baby. That's not taking care of us—that's dumping his responsibilities on someone else so he doesn't have to deal with them."
She's right. I can't argue with that.
I pull out my phone, dial Adrian's number. It rings once, then goes straight to voicemail. He turned it off. Or blocked my number. Either way, the message is clear.
I try again. Same result. I scroll through my contacts, find Lolita's number. She answers on the third ring, voice crisp and professional.
"Bellamy. How unexpected."
"Where is he?"
"I assume you mean Adrian." A pause. "I have no idea. Why would I?"
The genuine surprise in her voice tells me she's not lying. Adrian didn't tell her either. Just ran without informing anyone.
"He left Sophie. Took his things and walked out this morning."
Lolita goes quiet for a long moment. "How... predictable." But underneath the sardonic tone, I catch actual surprise. "I didn't think he'd actually do it."
"If he contacts you…"
"I'll let you know." She hangs up before I can say more.
I dial Eleanor next. She answers immediately, voice warm and slightly breathless like she's been walking.
"Bellamy? Is everything okay? Is Sophie—"
"Adrian left." I don't soften it. "Left a note and walked out sometime early this morning."
The sharp intake of breath tells me she didn't know either. Her voice transforms from warm to furious in seconds. "That absolute… Where is Sophie? Amelia?"
"They're both okay. But Sophie needs to talk to you."
I hand the phone to Sophie without asking if she's ready. She takes it automatically, brings it to her ear.
"Eleanor." Her voice breaks on the name.
I can hear Eleanor's response through the phone—rapid questions, concern, fury at her son. Sophie just listens, nods occasionally, wipes her eyes.
The conversation is brief. Eleanor promises to keep trying to reach Adrian, to call if she hears anything. She offers to come back immediately. Sophie declines quietly—needs time to process first.
When Sophie hands the phone back, she looks even more defeated. "What do I do now?"
I pocket my phone, turn to face her fully. "You survive. One day at a time."
"I can't," Her voice breaks again. "I can't do this alone. I can't raise Amelia alone. I don't know how."
"You're not alone." My voice is firm, absolute. No room for doubt. "I'm here."
She stares at me, searching my face for something. "Why? This isn't your responsibility. You don't owe me anything. You should just… You should go home to Noah and let me figure this out because it's not fair to you."
"Yes, it is." I cut her off before she can spiral further. "It is my responsibility. Because I'm choosing to make it my responsibility."
"Bellamy…"
"I'm here, Sophie. For as long as you need me. That's not negotiable."
Something in her expression cracks. Not breaking, but softening. Like she's allowing herself to believe me.
I stand first, then extend my hand. She takes it, lets me pull her to her feet. Her legs are unsteady from sitting on the floor for two hours. I steady her with a hand on her elbow, guide her toward the living room couch.
"Sit. I'm making tea."
I move through Adrian's kitchen—Sophie's kitchen now—with practiced efficiency. Fill the kettle. Find her favorite mug. Locate the chamomile tea she drinks when stressed.
While the water heats, I check the refrigerator. Find eggs, bread, cheese. Make her a simple omelet even though I know she probably won't eat it.
When I return with tea and food, she's exactly where I left her. Staring at nothing, arms wrapped around herself like she's trying to hold her pieces together.
I set everything on the coffee table, sit in the chair across from her. Don't crowd. Just stay present.
She doesn't touch the food. Holds the tea mug like it's anchoring her to reality.
The day passes in slow motion. I handle Amelia when she wakes—feeding, changing, playing. Sophie watches from the couch like she's viewing life through glass. I don't push her to engage. Just let her process while I keep their world functioning.
By evening, exhaustion finally pulls Sophie under. She falls asleep on the couch, still wearing yesterday's clothes, makeup still smeared. I cover her with a blanket, check that Amelia is settled in her crib.
By the time the apartment is quiet it's well past eleven. I stand in the doorway of the living room, watching Sophie breathe.
Her face is swollen from crying, hair stuck to one damp cheek. The blanket I draped over her earlier has slipped down to her waist.
I consider, for the length of one long inhale, calling the nanny. Going home. Sleeping in my own bed.
Then I walk to the nursery, check on Amelia—still sleeping, one fist against her cheek—and come back out. I pull the armchair across from the couch a few inches closer and sit down in it.