Chapter 8

I don't know what Sophia said to Jessica that night, but for a long time after, I didn't see her again.

I threw myself into my work. I was in constant contact with Sophia, either on the phone or in person.

The frequent meetings slowly chipped away at the awkwardness between us, and soon we were able to chat like old friends.

"Sophia, what did you say to Jessica that night? She's completely vanished."

We were at our usual coffee shop — a small place near my office that made terrible lattes but had a rooftop with a decent view. Sophia was stirring her drink absentmindedly.

"I told her the truth," she said simply.

"Which is?"

"That if she came near you again, I'd release every piece of evidence I have to the media. The bar videos, the security footage, screenshots of conversations between her and Kevin planning the disappearance."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "You have screenshots of their conversations?"

Sophia pulled out her phone and slid it across the table. On the screen was a group chat — Jessica, Kevin, and two of their friends. The messages dated back to a month before the ski trip.

Kevin: So when are we pulling the trigger on this?

Jessica: Next month. The ski trip is perfect. I'll "go missing" on the second day.

Kevin: And Jacob won't suspect anything?

Jessica: Please. He'll be too busy crying to think straight. 😂

My hands tightened around the coffee cup. Even now, after everything, seeing her laugh about it in writing hit differently than the videos.

"How long have you had these?"

"Since the funeral. One of Jessica's friends had a change of heart and forwarded them to me. Guilt can be a powerful motivator."

"Why didn't you show me sooner?"

Sophia took her phone back, her expression unreadable. "Because you were already hurt enough. You didn't need to see her laughing about it in text. But Jessica needed to know I had them."

I sat back in my chair and stared at the sky. A month ago, I would have raged. Now I just felt tired.

"So she's staying away because she's afraid of you."

"She's staying away because she has no leverage left. No husband, no boyfriend, no friends willing to cover for her, and an aunt with enough evidence to destroy whatever's left of her reputation."

Sophia said it matter-of-factly, without malice. That was the thing about her — she wasn't cruel. She was just ruthlessly honest.

"What about Kevin?" I asked. "Have you heard anything about him?"

"He moved. Left the city about two weeks ago. Apparently his company transferred him — or he requested the transfer. Either way, he's gone."

"Good riddance."

"Agreed."

We sat in comfortable silence for a while. The sun was setting, painting the rooftop in shades of orange and gold.

"Jacob," Sophia said eventually, "can I ask you something personal?"

"You've seen my wife's funeral and my divorce proceedings. I think we're past personal boundaries."

She smiled. "Fair point. Do you miss her? Not the real her — the version of her you thought you had?"

The question caught me off guard. I thought about it carefully.

"Sometimes," I admitted. "Late at night, when the house is quiet. I don't miss Jessica. I miss the idea of her — the woman who gave me those bobbleheads and told me they'd keep me company when she wasn't around."

"That woman existed once," Sophia said softly. "She just didn't stay."

"No. She didn't."

Sophia reached across the table and squeezed my hand. It was brief — barely two seconds — but it sent a warmth through me that had nothing to do with the coffee.

"For what it's worth," she said, "I think whoever you end up with next is going to be very lucky."

"You offering?" I meant it as a joke, but it came out more serious than intended.

She held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "Ask me again in six months. When you've had time to actually heal."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a 'Sophia plans everything, and right now the plan is to let you breathe.'" She stood up and grabbed her bag. "Walk me to my car?"

We walked in silence through the cooling evening air. At her car, she paused.

"I had a good time today," she said.

"It was just coffee."

"The best things usually are."

She drove off, and I stood in the parking lot, watching her taillights disappear for the second time. But this time, I didn't feel empty.

I felt like the first page of something new.

That night, I went home and unpacked the last of Jessica's things that I'd boxed up — not to reminisce, but to donate. Every dress, every shoe, every piece of jewelry went into bags destined for charity.

When the closet was finally empty, I stood back and looked at the space.

It was just a closet. But it felt like a fresh start.

I pulled out my phone and texted Sophia: Thank you for today. And for the record, I'm setting a six-month reminder.

Her reply came thirty seconds later: I know. I already set one too. 😊