The silence in the master bedroom was heavier than the arguments had ever been. William rushed in, a sheaf of legal papers in his hand, his hair disheveled from another hour of manic strategizing with Malcolm.
“We have a new angle for the deposition,” William started, breathless. “If we position your role as a stabilizing influence, the judge might–“
He stopped. He saw the suitcase open on the bed. The closets were half-empty.
“Sophie?”
Sophie Laurent-Croft didn’t look up as she folded a sweater. Her movements were precise and calm, stripped of the anxiety that had defined her existence in the “Impossible House”.
“I’m going to stay at the clinic for a while,” she said softly.
“You can’t leave now,” William pleaded, dropping the papers. “The hearing is in two days. We need to present a united front. We need to look like a family.”
Sophie finally turned. Her eyes were dry. “We aren’t a family, William. We are a courtroom strategy.” She walked over to the dresser and picked up the platinum wedding band she had taken off. “Yesterday, in the library, you called her your wife. You didn’t slip. You told the truth.”
“It was a mistake,” William whispered, the “Divided Husband” finally confronting the wreckage he had caused.
“No,” Sophie said, placing the ring on the nightstand. “The mistake was thinking I could be a placeholder for a ghost. I refuse to be a spectator in my own marriage anymore.” She picked up her bag and walked past him, leaving him alone in the room that was supposed to be their sanctuary.