The metal doors closed with a hollow clang, and Sophia felt the echo travel straight through her chest. Barry and Lauren had just left together, heading for headquarters to strengthen the firewalls. She could still hear Lauren’s confident voice, volunteering her help as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And Barry—steady, decisive Barry—had nodded without hesitation. Sophia’s jaw tightened. She dropped onto the bench, hugging her arms around herself. The hall felt too big, too silent. “Wow,” came a familiar voice from behind her. “You look like someone just stole your birthday cake.” Sophia blinked and turned. Amanda strolled in, her bag slung over one shoulder, her hair tied in its usual messy bun. Her eyes crinkled with warmth as she flopped down beside Sophia without waiting for an invitation. Sophia tried for a smile. “Amanda. You always know how to make an entrance.” “Of course,” Amanda grinned. “So, spill. Why the face? Did Barry misfile a book? Heaven for

Amanda sat back in her chair, her hands cradling the coffee cup as if it were a fragile thing. Yet her eyes told a different story—sharp, unwavering, and far too knowing. “You can’t sit on the fence forever, Soph. Barry isn’t blind. If you hold back, someone else will make a move. Someone like Lauren.” "That's the big difference between you and me, bestie. I don't allow shit to go on and I just allow it to happen. I, my dear friend, make the shit happen. I determined from a young age to make my future happen the way I want it to go." Amanda shifted in a manner that Sophia had never seen before. "Let me ask you something. Do you think that my father gave a shit when he decided to fuck his 19 year old secretary? Do you think that 19 year old Lucy have a damn when she spread her legs for a man old enough to be her father? Do you think that my mom helped herself by going to bed with a bottle of Jack every night? "Mandy, I'm so sorry..." Sophia realised that Amanda's hurt was deep. Sh

Barry awoke the following morning to the faint scrape of slippers against polished tiles. His head felt heavy, his eyes useless pools of darkness, and yet the smell of coffee brought him a kind of comfort. He straightened in bed, tightening his grip on the sheet, reminding himself that he had to keep control — even here, even in this helplessness. Lauren entered with a tray balanced carefully in her hands. “Good morning, sir,” she said, her voice bright and full of cheer. “I thought you might like breakfast in bed. Scrambled eggs, toast, and of course, coffee.” Barry tried to inject authority into his tone. “Lauren, I told you last night, no fussing. I’ll manage.” She set the tray across his lap with a smile he could not see but could feel in the air. “And I told you, I’m not about to leave you to fend for yourself. Not when you can’t even see where your fork is.” “That’s temporary,” he muttered. “Just until the drops wear off. A week, maybe less. And in that time, you will not b

The week felt endless. Sophia had stopped counting the days since Barry had driven off with that woman. The last she’d seen of him was the sleek car disappearing down the hill, his arm resting casually against the open window — the same arm that used to hold her close. She told herself she wasn’t jealous, just disappointed. But jealousy crept in quietly, like fog over the sea — soft, suffocating, impossible to ignore. His text messages were brief, polite, stripped of warmth. Hope you’re well. Busy week. Will explain soon. That wasn’t Barry. Her Barry sent voice notes, called her “Soph,” teased her about her morning coffee addiction. The messages she received now sounded like they came from a stranger. She’d tried calling once, twice, then stopped. Pride had its limits — and hers was fraying. Barry stood outside her flat with his hands buried deep in his pockets, heart hammering. Lauren had begged him to rest another day, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let Sophia drift further a

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the living-room window, wrapping the space in a mellow gold. Sophia had just finished making tea, the scent of rooibos mingling with a faint trace of cinnamon from the biscuits cooling on the counter. Barry sat quietly on the couch, his hands clasped, staring at nothing in particular. “Barry,” she said softly, handing him a cup. “You’ve been miles away all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?” He accepted the cup but didn’t drink. His thumb traced the rim absently. “Soph, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should’ve told you weeks ago.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching his face. “You’re scaring me. What is it?” He took a deep breath. “My eyes. It’s about my eyes.” She froze. “Your eyes? What do you mean?” He set the cup down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if looking for strength there. “It’s hereditary — glaucoma. Runs in my family. I’ve known about it since my twenties, but it was always under co