All That Went Unsaid | Complete (18+)

Chapter 25

Sophie Esinberg's POV 

A thin mist clung to the hills as evening settled over the Blue Ridge Mountains, soft and silver against the endless sweep of green. The cabin stood at the edge of a wildflower meadow, its porch wrapped in ivy and late-summer blooms, like something out of a painting. Crickets sang beneath the hush of towering oaks. It should have felt serene—storybook perfect—but my chest ached with a knot of unease.

I tightened my jacket around me, fingers cold despite the warm Virginia air, and stared at the wooden door. Three weeks ago, I had snapped at him. But nineteen hours ago I'd boarded a flight from Ethiopia to the States, a single impulsive decision that now pulsed like a bruise beneath my skin.

That night with him—God, it had spiraled so fast. When he said, I need to talk to you, I never expected a neatly drawn proposal, investor language rolling off his tongue like he'd rehearsed every word. An angel investment. Money to scale my research.

And I—predictable, defensive—had detonated.

After years of clawing my way through panic attacks and bone-deep loneliness, I'd finally built something solid on my own. Independence wasn't just a habit; it was the thin armor that kept me upright. So when Raymond offered to pour his success into my dream, it didn't feel like love or faith. It felt like pity. Like proof that he'd leapt ahead in life while I was still scrambling.

I could still see the flicker in his eyes when I snapped—hurt first, then something heavier, resignation maybe. He'd said he had a flight back to the States the next evening. I'd let him walk out without a goodbye.

And yet here I was, standing on the threshold of this cabin, thousands of miles and a single stubborn heartbeat away from the girl who swore she didn't need him. I did not want his money to save me. This was my fight—my scar to wear, my battle to win—and I could fight it alone.

Two days after Raymond walked out of my apartment, my phone lit up like a storm. Claire's name filled the screen in a relentless cascade of texts. First playful, then pleading, then the kind of bossy only Claire could manage without tipping into cruelty. I ignored every single one for hours, watching the blue light of my phone flicker in the dark like a heartbeat I refused to acknowledge.

But in the silence between messages, Raymond's voice kept threading through me—Give it a chance, Soaf. The way he'd said it, low and certain, as if he could already see the walls I'd built and was daring me to open a door.

I caved before midnight. Maybe because I missed her. Maybe because I missed the girl I'd been when we were inseparable.

And now here I was, standing in the gravel driveway of a cabin tucked deep in the Virginia mountains, the twilight a soft wash of lavender across the valley. I exhaled, my breath catching on the scent of pine and damp earth. The door waited.

I could imagine Claire and Chase's bachelorette celebration in full swing inside this beautiful cottage—laughter spilling through the windows, music pulsing faintly beneath the cicadas. The smell of woodsmoke and honeysuckle, of everything warm and alive.

Raymond hadn't called. Not once. Not even a halfhearted text.

I told myself that was what I wanted—that his silence meant freedom, that he couldn't wound me if he wasn't trying to reach me. I should have been relieved, triumphant even. Instead there was this low, persistent ache just under my ribs, like a muscle pulled too tight.

Why did the quiet feel like a loss?

Claire had been unrelenting these past two weeks. Daily calls. Voice notes that ricocheted from laughter to mock outrage. You're a bridesmaid, Sophie. End of discussion.