Chapter 10
The words James Moretti had rehearsed during the frantic helicopter ride, the desperate digging, the agonizing wait, dissolved like snowflakes on hot skin. Standing before Sophia in the chaotic aftermath of the avalanche, the only thing that emerged was a raw, ragged apology.
“Sophia,” he began, his voice scraped thin by cold and exhaustion. “What you went through… I know. The pregnancy… I know.”
“Enough!”
Sophia cut him off, her voice sharp as glacial ice. A brittle, mocking smile touched her lips.
“Did you fly halfway across the world, Mr. Moretti, just to mock how stupid I used to be?” Her words, honed by months of solitary resolve and pain, sliced into him with surgical precision.
He flinched, the accusation striking bone. “No! God, no. I… I know how much I hurt you. I was wrong. So wrong.” His gaze, bloodshot from thirty hours without sleep, pleaded with her.
“Sophia, please. Don’t let this divorce be final. Come back.”
A heavy silence descended, broken only by the distant whine of a snowmobile. Then, a faint, derisive sound escaped Sophia – a shard of laughter devoid of humor.
“How remarkably arrogant,” she stated, her voice chillingly calm.
“You think tossing out a cheap ‘sorry’ means I should wag my tail like some grateful puppy? That the years of neglect, the humiliation with Vicky, just vanish?”
She shook her head, the movement weary yet resolute. “I was invisible to you until I chose not to be. You discarded me long before you signed those papers.”
“Sophia, listen-”
