PART 03 He looked at me with an expression I had never seen before. “Sarah, please. Just give it to me.” Sophie looked up. “But you told me it didn’t exist anymore.” He turned toward her. “What did you say?” “You told Mom you had thrown it away. But you
didn’t. You hid it.” The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Mark extended his hand again, but Sophie finally stepped backward. “I think Mom should keep it,” she said. “Don’t you dare.” “Why not?” “Because I said so!” Sophie flinched. I immediately put an arm around her shoulders. “Enough,” I told him. “You’re not going to frighten her.” For the first time that evening, Mark seemed to realize that he had lost control of the situation. He glanced toward the front window, where the woman in his car was probably wondering why he was taking so long. “Fine,” he muttered. “Keep your ridiculous phone. It won’t change anything.” He picked up his suitcase and walked toward the door. Before leaving, he turned around. “Sarah, don’t make this worse than it already is. Whatever you think you’ve found, leave it alone.” I stared at him. “You’ve just told me you’re leaving your family for another woman. What exactly do you think could make this worse?” He didn’t answer. He walked out. Through the window, I watched him put his suitcase into the trunk. The woman leaned across the passenger seat and kissed his cheek. A moment later, their car disappeared down the
street. I stood in the doorway until the red taillights were gone. Then I closed the door. Sophie was still holding the phone. “Mom?” I turned around and tried to smile. “Yes, sweetheart?” “Are you going to cry?” I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be fine, that her father was simply confused, that adults sometimes made terrible decisions and later regretted them. Instead, I knelt in front of her. “I might cry a little. But that’s not your fault.” She wrapped her arms around my neck. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel the full weight of the evening. Ten years of appointments, sleepless nights, hospital corridors, financial worries, and quiet sacrifices had ended with my husband walking out of our home with another woman. And yet, the most unsettling part of the evening was still sitting in my daughter’s hands. After Sophie went upstairs to change, I examined the phone. It wouldn’t turn on at first. I found an old charging cable in the drawer and connected it to the wall. A few minutes later, the screen flickered, revealing a photograph of Mark and me taken shortly after his accident. I remembered that photograph. He had been lying in his hospital bed, and I was sitting beside him, holding his hand. I looked exhausted, my hair tied carelessly behind my head, but I was smiling because he had squeezed my fingers for the first time since the accident. I swallowed. There were dozens of old photographs, messages, and recordings on the phone. Some files wouldn’t open, and others required a password. I didn’t want to invade his privacy, especially with Sophie watching everything that happened between us. But then I noticed something strange. The phone’s last recorded activity was not from ten years ago, as I had assumed. It had been used much more recently. I checked the date again. The last file had been created only seven months earlier. I stared at the screen, trying to understand why Mark would have kept using a phone he claimed had been broken for years. And then I noticed the name attached to the most recent recording.It was simply
labeled: FOR SARAH. I didn’t press play. Not yet. Because suddenly I was afraid that whatever Mark had hidden on that phone might be more painful than the betrayal I had witnessed in my kitchen. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it. The following morning, I woke up to the sound of Sophie moving around in the kitchen. For a few seconds, I couldn’t remember what had happened. Then I saw Mark’s empty side of the bed, the open wardrobe, and the suitcase-shaped space near the bedroom door. The previous evening returned to me with such force that I sat motionless, staring at the ceiling. I had spent ten years imagining the day Mark would walk again. In some of those imagined moments, he would cross the living room toward me, wrap his arms around my waist, and tell me that we had survived the worst of it. In others, he would take Sophie outside and walk beside her for the first time, laughing as she held his hand. Never once had I imagined that his first real steps toward a new life would take him away from us. I eventually got dressed and went downstairs. Sophie had made two pieces of toast. One was slightly burnt, and the other had too much butter, but she had placed them neatly on two plates. “I made breakfast,” she said. I smiled. “It looks wonderful.” She studied my face. “You didn’t sleep.” “Neither did you, I think.” She shrugged and took a bite of toast. I sat opposite her. The old phone was on the counter, next to the fruit bowl. I had left it charging overnight, but I hadn’t opened the recording marked with my name. “Sweetheart, can I ask you something?” She nodded. “Why did you bring Dad that phone yesterday? You knew it would upset him.” Sophie looked down at her plate. “I didn’t know he’d be that upset.” “But you knew it was important.” She thought for a moment. “Last week, I was helping Grandma look for some old photographs. We found pictures of Dad in the hospital, and I remembered the phone. I wanted to see if there were any pictures from when I was little.” “Did you find any?” “Yes. There were pictures of me when I was a baby. And some videos.” I felt my stomach tighten. “What kind of videos?” “Just old family videos. You were in some of them.” She hesitated. “Mom, Dad used to tell me not to touch that phone. Even when I was little, he would get upset if I picked it up.” “Maybe he had private work information on it.” “Maybe.” Her answer sounded unconvincing. I reached across the table and took her hand. “Sophie, if there’s anything you want to tell me, you can. You don’t have to protect me from things that happened between your father and me.” She nodded, but she didn’t speak. That morning, I called my manager and explained that I needed another day off. I had already used most of my available leave, but I couldn’t imagine standing behind the counter at work and pretending nothing had happened. Then I called Mark. He didn’t answer. I sent a message asking him to arrange a time to collect the rest of his belongings. He replied almost immediately. I’ll come on Saturday. Please don’t start any arguments. I read the message twice. There was no apology. No concern about Sophie. Not even a question about how we were managing. I typed several replies and deleted each one. Finally, I wrote: We need to talk about our daughter. His response came ten minutes later. I’ll call her tonight. I put the phone down.
