Bellamy’s POV
The park is quiet for a Thursday afternoon—a few joggers, an elderly couple feeding ducks, scattered people enjoying the unseasonably warm weather.
I chose this location deliberately: public enough to be safe, private enough for the conversation we need to have.
Sophie asked to see me, said we needed to talk. After what happened in her bedroom two days ago, I know this is overdue and potentially catastrophic. But I couldn't refuse.
Noah bounces in his car seat the entire drive, chattering about seeing "Miss Sophie and baby Mimi."
I park near the playground and let him out. He immediately sprints toward the oak tree where Sophie is spreading a blanket, Amelia beside her in a carrier.
"Miss Sophie!" Noah's voice carries across the park as he runs to her, his little legs pumping as fast as they can go.
Sophie's face lights up when she sees him, and the genuine joy there makes my chest tighten. She opens her arms and Noah crashes into her for a hug before immediately dropping to his knees beside Amelia's carrier.
"Hi baby Mimi," he says in that careful, gentle voice he uses with infants. "I brought my cars to show you."
He pulls toy cars from his pockets and begins an elaborate narrative. Amelia watches with fascinated eyes, occasionally reaching toward the colorful toys.
I approach slowly, taking in the scene. Sophie on the blanket watching Noah entertain Amelia. Afternoon sunlight filtering through oak leaves. Noah's animated chatter, Amelia's delighted babbling.
This could be my life, I think suddenly. In another universe where I met Sophie first, where I wasn't carrying the ghost of Olivia, where Adrian Lewis never walked into that lecture hall.
This exact scene—Sophie, Noah, a baby that could have been ours. Simple domestic happiness that feels both impossibly close and completely unreachable.
"Hi," Sophie says softly, looking up at me with eyes that hold too many complicated emotions to name.
"Hi." I settle onto the edge of the blanket, maintaining careful distance. Professional boundaries, even here. Especially here.
For several minutes we watch Noah perform for Amelia, neither of us speaking. The silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid.
Finally, Sophie breaks. "I don't want you to disappear from my life."
Her voice cracks on the last word, and I see tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. Not the conversation opener I expected, but somehow worse.
"Sophie…"
"I know what Adrian wants. I know the plan is for you to step back after the wedding, to transition out, to become just a memory we occasionally reference."
She's looking at Noah and Amelia, not at me. "I know it's what makes sense, what’s appropriate, what's necessary to move forward."
"Then you know why it has to happen," I say gently.
"Knowing it and accepting it are different things."
Finally she looks at me, and the raw emotion in her eyes nearly undoes me.
"You've been there for everything, Bellamy. The pregnancy, the birth, the aftermath when Adrian was gone. You held me together when I was falling apart. How am I supposed to just let you walk away like none of that mattered?"
"It all mattered." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Every moment mattered. But that's exactly why I have to go. Because it matters too much, Sophie. Because what I feel for you…"
I stop myself, aware we're in public, aware Noah is ten feet away. "This is already too complicated. After the wedding, it becomes impossible."
She absorbs this, nodding slowly even though I can see she hates it. "Will you at least come to the wedding? Before you leave completely?"
I hesitate. The honest answer is I'm not sure I can stand there and watch her marry Adrian.
Watch her walk down the aisle in that dress, promise forever to someone else, become Mrs. Lewis while I stand in the back like just another guest.
But I see the hope in Sophie's eyes, the need for me to be there, and I can't refuse her. Even when refusing would be kinder to both of us.
"Yes," I say quietly. "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it."
The relief that crosses her face is immediate and profound.
She reaches toward me instinctively, then catches herself, hand dropping back to her lap. The aborted gesture somehow more intimate than if she'd actually touched me.
"I've been thinking about what happened," she says after a moment. "In the bedroom. About what you said."
My entire body tenses. "Sophie, I apologize. It was…"
"You can't say things like that to me, Bellamy." She cuts me off, her voice quiet but firm. "Not when I'm about to marry someone else. Not when I'm trying so hard to do the right thing. You can't tell me Adrian is lucky to have me, can't look at me like that, can't…"
Her voice breaks. "You just can't."
"You're right. I crossed a line. I shouldn't have."
"The problem isn't that you crossed it." She's looking at me now, really looking at me, and the honesty in her eyes is devastating. "The problem is that I didn’t stop you."
The confession hangs between us, dangerous and electric. I should respond, should address what she just admitted, but before I can find words, Noah is running over.
"Daddy! Push me on the swings!" He grabs my hand, tugging insistently. "Please? Miss Sophie said you would."
I glance at Sophie, and she gives me a small nod—permission to escape this conversation that's veering into territory we can't navigate. I stand, letting Noah pull me toward the playground equipment.
"High?" Noah asks as I position him on the swing.
"As high as is safe," I compromise, beginning to push.
From the swings, I can see Sophie still sitting on the blanket with Amelia. She's watching us—watching me with Noah, the easy affection between us, the patience I show as he demands higher, faster, more.
I catch her expression and recognize something like longing there.
Is she imagining me being this way with Amelia as she grows? The thought simultaneously warms and breaks something in my chest.
After fifteen minutes of swinging, Noah announces he's hungry and wants to show Amelia his lunch. We return to the blanket where Sophie has set out snacks.
Noah settles beside Amelia again, offering her pieces of his crackers even though she's too young to eat them. The gesture is sweet, protective, and I see Sophie's eyes get misty watching him.
Too soon, it's time to leave. Sophie has an appointment, and I need to get Noah home for his nap. We pack up slowly, both of us dragging out the goodbye.
As I'm strapping Amelia into her carrier for Sophie, she suddenly hugs me. Not professionally, not carefully—just wraps her arms around me and holds on like I'm the only solid thing in a world that won't stop spinning.
I hold her back, appropriately but unable to stop myself from breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the way she fits against me. The contact sends electricity through every point where our bodies connect.
"Thank you," she whispers against my shoulder. "For everything. For being there. For understanding."
"Always," I murmur back, the word both promise and goodbye.
I pull away first because I have to, because if I don't I'll never be able to. I take Noah's hand and walk toward the car, forcing myself not to look back even though everything in me wants to.
In the rearview mirror as I drive away, I see Sophie still standing there, one hand raised in farewell, looking like she's already grieving something that hasn't died yet.