32| Cold Distance

Sophie paced the living room, glancing at the clock every few minutes.

The house felt too quiet.

Just like early today, when she had woken up and realized Ethan wasn't home.

He hadn't even replied to her texts, the ones she had sent this morning.

And that hurt.

The anxiety gnawed at her, and the day hadn't helped. Work had been a disaster—she'd messed up orders, nearly cut herself twice, and eventually, Lily had taken one look at her and sent her home, insisting she take the rest of the day off.

Now, as evening crept in, she was left with nothing but her racing thoughts.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the silence, and her heart leapt.

A moment later, the front door opened, followed by the unmistakable sound of Ethan's heavy footsteps.

Relief mixed with unease as she moved toward the hallway.

She moved toward the hallway just as he stepped inside.

Ethan looked wrecked.

His hair was tousled, his shirt slightly rumpled, but it wasn't just exhaustion weighing him down—he had worked himself to the brink before, but she had never seen him like this. There was something off about the way he carried himself, as if he wasn't just tired, but—

Defeated.

"You're home?" she said softly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound steady.

Ethan barely looked at her. "Yeah, I'm home," he muttered flatly, setting his keys on the table.

Something inside her twisted.

Sophie took a step closer. "Why didn't you come home last night? I waited for you."

She tried to sound calm, but the hurt bled through her words.

Ethan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "I was busy." His tone was clipped, distant.

That was it?

That was his explanation?

"Busy?" she repeated, brows furrowing. "Ethan, you didn't even send a message. Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought something had happened—"

"You can't do that to me, Ethan," she added, softer this time.

He felt that. He knew it because for half a second, his shoulders tensed, as if the words had actually hit him.

But then—

It was gone.

He had already decided.

Already agreed with himself that he wouldn't feel anything.

"What do you want, Sophie?" he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

She startled slightly, and for a moment, his frustration faltered.

But he buried it just as quickly.

His tone only made it worse.

She had been so sure she was ready to talk. But how could she tell him she liked him—how could she tell him that he mattered—when the air between them felt fragile enough to break?

But she wouldn't retreat.

Not this time.

"I just want to talk," she said, forcing herself to hold his gaze. "I've been thinking about... us."

Ethan leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

He wanted to refuse.

Didn't want to hear the inevitable.

Didn't want to say the wrong thing.

But how long could he avoid her?

"Fine," he muttered. "Let's talk."

She gestured toward the living room, and they both sat down.

Sophie clasped her hands together, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Yesterday, at the shop... I was thinking about everything. And, um—yeah, Lucas stopped by, and we had a conversation." She hesitated, her voice faltering.

At the mention of Lucas, Ethan's jaw tightened.

His body went rigid.

"Lucas, huh?" His tone was cold. Distant. "Right. Of course, it has to be about Lucas."

Sophie's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? I feel like you're upset with me, and I get it, but I just don't understand why you're being so cruel."

"Ethan, I'm trying to talk to you, but what am I supposed to do?" Her voice was rising now, emotions slipping through. "If we have a fight, and then you don't come home—I wanted to talk to you yesterday too! But you didn't come home. Why? Ethan, why?"

Ethan sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face.

What the hell was the point of keeping up this frustration any longer?

But was it worth opening up now?

Would she even believe him?

"I drove to your shop yesterday," he said finally, like the words physically hurt him. "But I figured you didn't need me, because he made you feel better. Right, Sophie?"

There was no bitterness in his voice, no sharp condescension. He said it like he meant it.

And that made her heart hurt.

Sophie froze.

Ethan had come to see her?

But... if he had, why didn't he come inside?

"Is that why you didn't come home yesterday?" she asked, her voice quieter now, laced with something too close to hurt.

Ethan exhaled, looking away. "Sophie... you said you didn't trust me."

Her stomach dropped.

She had said that.

But she hadn't meant it—not really. She had been angry, but she never thought—

"So what was I supposed to think," Ethan continued, his voice softer now, "when I saw you? Laughing. Hugging him."

It wasn't a question, not really.

It was the kind of statement that settled in the air like a weight.

Sophie swallowed.

Yes, she had hugged Lucas, but it hadn't meant anything.

But deep down, she knew—

It wasn't just about the hug.

It was about everything she had said to Ethan during their fight.

Everything she had thrown at him in the heat of the moment.

The things she knew must have hurt him.

"Ethan... I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean that. Any of it."

And she didn't.

But the way he looked at her—resigned, guarded, already pulling away—made her realize that maybe it was too late.

Ethan let out a tired breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, Sophie... I'm sorry, maybe I was cruel but don't you think you're the one being too cruel right now?"

Sophie flinched.

Cruel?

Was that what she had been?

Ethan shook his head.

"I'm sorry I didn't say the right things during our fight," Ethan said, his voice rough with frustration.

"I wanted to make things right, I wanted to understand—but you didn't even give me the chance. You just brushed me aside like I was the bad guy." He exhaled sharply.

"And while I know your feelings were hurt," Ethan continued, his voice tightening, "why did you think telling me about your friendly chat with Lucas would make anything better?"

Sophie flinched, guilt washing over her.

"Yeah, you're right." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I blamed you for things that weren't your fault."

She had been upset and accused him of many things.

Ethan shook his head. "It wasn't just that. You said I avoided you, but Sophie, you avoided me first." His voice was quieter now, steadier. "You also said you thought you were wrong about us."

Sophie sucked in a sharp breath.

She had said that.

She had meant it in a moment of anger, in a moment of panic—but she hadn't thought about how it would sound to him.

Ethan leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to calm himself.

"I saw you hug him," he admitted, voice almost thoughtful now. "And I know you're just friends. I know that."

He exhaled slowly.

"But it still hurt. You were happy without me"

And for some reason, that was the thing that broke her.

Because Ethan wasn't the type to admit when something hurt.

And yet, here he was, laying it bare.

"And maybe," he continued, voice quieter now, "it made me realize something."

She watched him, breath caught in her throat.

"Maybe you were right," Ethan murmured. "Maybe we were both lying to ourselves."

Sophie felt her whole world tilt.

Ethan let out a slow breath, finally looking at her again.

"I've never cared about another woman the way I care about you, Sophie."

The words landed, heavy, earth-shattering.

Sophie sucked in a breath as they rolled off his tongue, her heart hammering in her chest.

But then—

"And yet," Ethan said, his gaze steady, "I was the one person you couldn't trust."

That hit her.

Hard.

She realized, all at once, what she had done.

She had pushed her insecurities onto him.

She had been so desperate to protect herself, so afraid of getting hurt—

That she had never even considered how he felt.

Her throat tightened. "Ethan, please, let's talk—"

Ethan shook his head.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Sophie... I don't know if I can do this."

She blinked. "Do what?"

His eyes met hers.

"Give you what you want," he said, voice raw. "What you deserve."

Sophie felt that.

Like her heart had just cracked in two.

"No," she whispered. "No, Ethan, don't—"

But he was already standing.

And then his fingers curled around hers, holding them so gently that it hurt even more.

"Sophie," he said softly, "I need space."

Space.

The word echoed in her head.

He finally told her how he felt—finally admitted what she had been so desperate to hear—

And now, he needed space.

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her all at once.

She nodded, slow and pained. "Maybe you're right." Her voice was hollow. "Maybe we both do."

Ethan didn't say anything.

He just nodded.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked to the bedroom.

Sophie stood there, frozen, listening as his door shut behind him.

The finality of it felt like a slap.

She sank onto the couch, arms wrapping around herself as the tears she had been holding back finally spilled over.

She didn't even bother wiping them away.

She just let them fall.

Because now, all she could do was wonder—

Why did she and Ethan always seem to miss each other?

Why, despite how strongly she felt for him, did it feel like they just weren't meant to be?

And why—

Why did it feel like Ethan had already decided that he couldn't fight for them?

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