Page 119 of Between Regrets and Promises

“Hi, excuse me. Do you know if Sophie Corrigan attends your grief meetings?”

“Never heard of her,” the woman says.

“Is anyone else inside?”

“No.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Before I search on my phone again, I finally get a response from one of her sisters.

Lennon

St. Luke’s Church over on fifth.

I tell Liam and yell at him to book it. It takes us almost ten minutes to get over there thanks to traffic, and by the time we arrive, the parking lot is empty. It’s seven thirty, and the meeting ended a half hour ago.

Jumping out of the truck and slamming the door behind me, I begin screaming her name. “Sophie!” My voice is deep and loud, a sound I’ve never heard come from my throat before. I yell three more times before Liam tells me to get back into the truck. I don’t listen, but instead lean up against it, hoping for a damn miracle that she comes back to me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SOPHIE

Caleb parksthe car in front of the church, and we sit with it running for a moment. He looks at me with tears in his eyes. Although this week has been a sad reminder of what he’s lost, I’m happy I was able to be here for him tonight, considering his current state. It’s hard seeing a man so broken, especially one who obviously loved his wife very much.

“Thanks for coming with me, Sophie. This has been a hard week, and I’ve been struggling to even go through the motions.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I get it,” I tell him sincerely.

His eyes meet mine. “But do you? Do youreallyget it?” His harsh question takes me off guard, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s having an emotional week, or if he’s second-guessing my reasons for joining the group in the first place. Or maybe it’s my own guilt.

I suck in a sharp breath, worried he’s calling me out for how I truly feel about Weston’s death, but there’s no way he could know. I’ve been vague, hardly mentioning anything about my issues as I try to work through them. For a moment, I think about Weston, and the air in the car gets thick, the weight ofit sitting heavy on my chest. I feel like a fraud because I’m not mourning the loss of a man who abused me, and maybe Caleb finally realizes that.

“I do get it. It may be on a different level, but I understand what it’s like to feel a missing piece of your heart,” I tell him, hoping that’s enough for him to stop questioning me. Glancing down at my phone, I realize we only have a few minutes until the meeting starts. “We should probably go inside so we aren’t late.”

With a nod, Caleb turns off the engine, and we get out of the car.Just one hour of this, then I can go home to Mason, I remind myself.

“Do you miss him?” Caleb asks as he opens the door to the church and motions for me to walk in ahead of him. I look at him and think about how close I was to dying by Weston’s hands. My heart beats erratically, and I try to push away the anxiety threatening to take hold, but I’m failing miserably.

“I miss the good times.” I spin around and walk toward the room where our meeting is held. I’m not lying but also not offering any additional information. I’ve kept it bottled up, refusing to tell my secret to a room full of strangers. It’s not easy to explain the emotional effects of abuse to people, and considering this is my last meeting, I don’t think I need to do it here.

“You okay?” Caleb asks as I take a seat and try to focus on my breathing.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” But I’m not. I’m spiraling to a dark place—a place I’ve tried to forget so many times in the past several weeks. It’s as if Weston has come back from the grave to take hold of me. To remind me I was his, and that I willalwaysbe his.

The chair next to me stays empty until right before the meeting starts. An older woman named Annette sits next to me and smiles. I’ve seen her here before. She has a kind face andis soft-spoken, but like the rest of the people in this room, she’s grief-stricken and broken.

I wait for Dacia, hoping to see her tonight since I haven’t heard from her lately. She’s never late and doesn’t usually miss any meetings, so I find her absence odd. I pull my phone from my clutch and send her a message because I’m worried. Opening the last text I received from her, the date is from a few days before the dinner party when she confirmed she’d be coming but then didn’t.

Pastor Jude walks in and greets everyone with his usual warm tone. He lets us know a couple of members are running late, so the meeting will begin shortly.

“Who are you texting?” Caleb leans over and glances at my phone.

“Dacia. Have you spoken to her lately?” I ask.

Caleb shakes his head. “Nope. Haven’t heard from her since she ditched your party.”

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