I wanted to appear again — successful, stylish, to make her regret.
To make her understand that losing me was the biggest mistake of her life.
On Saturday afternoon, I stood in front of the gate of the elementary school where my son — Noah, now eight years old — was studying.
My heart fluttered when I saw him with a backpack, running happily out.
He didn’t recognize me.
I approached and started a conversation:
“You’re my dad’s friend, when I was little you used to carry me around.”
Noah smiled innocently. I bought him ice cream and asked about his studies.
He said:
“My mom often works extra hours at night, but she loves me very much.”
My heart sank.
That evening, I called Sophie.
Her number was the same.
When I said, “I’m Ethan,” there was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.
“Are you… back?”
“Yeah. Can we meet?”
We met at an old cafe near the beach, where we used to hang out during our college days.
Sophie arrived, thinner and paler than before, without makeup or jewelry.
But her eyes were still the same — gentle, deep, and sad.
