Marcus drove back to the house that evening with the divorce papers on the passenger seat.
He had spent the whole day preparing himself for what he might face. He expected shouting. He expected tears. He expected Sophia to throw things or accuse him of abandoning her after her accident. He had practiced the calm answers he would give.
What he did not expect was the sound that reached him the moment he opened the front door.
A low, rhythmic moan drifted from the upstairs bedroom. The bed frame was creaking in a steady, unmistakable rhythm. A man’s deep groan mixed with Sophia’s voice.
Marcus stopped in the hallway.
For a few seconds he just stood there, listening. Then he climbed the stairs quietly.
The bedroom door was half open. He pushed it wider with two fingers.
Sophia was strad
