Chapter 3 - Sofia Thought My Marriage Was Already Dying
I met Sofia the next afternoon.
Maya hated the idea.
I needed it.
Not because I wanted details about kissing or hotel rooms.
I wanted to know what Dante had told her about me.
We chose a hotel café downtown.
Public.
Quiet.
Sofia looked completely different without the red dress.
Black pants.
Cream sweater.
Blonde hair loose around her shoulders.
She stood when I approached.
“I’m sorry.”
I sat.
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
She nodded.
Fair.
“How did it start?”
“Work.”
Of course.
Sofia had joined Moretti Development as an outside design consultant seven months earlier.
Dante oversaw the renovation portfolio.
Late presentations became dinners.
Dinners became drinks.
The first kiss happened four months before our anniversary.
“Did you know he was married?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
I appreciated the honesty even while hating the answer.
“What did he tell you about us?”
Sofia stared at her coffee.
“That you were basically living separate lives.”
I laughed softly.
Dante and I had eaten breakfast together that morning.
“What else?”
“That you didn’t want children.”
My expression changed.
I had never said that.
Dante and I had postponed trying because his schedule was brutal and my architecture firm had just taken on its largest project.
Postponed was not never.
Sofia continued.
“He said you cared more about your work than the marriage.”
That one hurt because there was enough truth inside it to be believable.
I worked long hours.
So did Dante.
The difference was I had never turned his ambition into permission to betray him.
“Did he say he planned to leave me?”
“Eventually.”
“When?”
“After your fifth anniversary.”
I stared.
“Why after?”
Sofia looked confused.
“He said you had some family event tied to it.”
I frowned.
“What event?”
“He never explained.”
There was no family event.
Then Sofia remembered something.
“He said after five years, things would be simpler financially.”
My stomach tightened.
Dante and I had a prenup.
Not because either of us expected divorce.
Because both families insisted.
I knew the general terms.
After five years, certain jointly acquired assets would be divided differently.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
I had never thought about the anniversary as a financial date.
Apparently Dante had.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Not directly.”
Sofia’s face paled as she understood the implication.
“He said after five years he could make decisions without destroying everything.”
That was not proof of a financial scheme.
But it was a clue.
I asked:
“Did you ever ask him to leave me?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That timing mattered.”
Timing.
Not love.
Not confusion.
Timing.
Then Sofia pushed her phone toward me.
One message from Dante, sent six weeks earlier:
I just need to get through the anniversary. After that, I can stop pretending everything is fine.
I read it twice.
May you like
The anniversary dinner I had carried into his office had not interrupted an impulsive affair.
It had interrupted a countdown.
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