Mark
I told myself I was happy for her, and I was, genuinely, completely. I also spent the rest of that evening quietly working through a knot of fear that had settled in my chest the moment Harold's name appeared on her phone screen, and I hated myself a little for how hard it was to keep that fear from showing on my face.
"You've been quiet since we left the wing," Sophia said, curled up on my couch that night, a folder of Chicago project details already sitting open on the coffee table in front of her, notes half-filled in her careful architect's handwriting.
"Just thinking."
"About the project?"
"About a lot of things." I sat down beside her, choosing my words carefully, not wanting to overshadow something that clearly mattered enormously to her career. "I'm proud of you. I need y
