He Posted Ninety-Nine Sorries And I Posted My Goodbye Chapter 09

He Posted Ninety-Nine Sorries And I Posted My Goodbye Chapter 09

Two months after I came home, I got an offer from the company I wanted.

First day, the elevator was full of people my age, laughing about where to get lunch.

I stood in the corner, looking at my reflection in the metal doors. Hair pulled back, light makeup, standing straight.

Nothing like the girl who used to crouch outside Ethan’s house crying.

Work kept me busy. Project after project, meetings back to back. Some nights I worked late in the empty office, staring at my screen.

But I loved it.

Loved having my work recognized.

Loved holding my own in meetings, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Before, I tiptoed around Ethan—terrified one wrong word would make him shut me out for days.

Not anymore.

No one would freeze me out for three days.

No one would leave me crying alone all night.

Three months in, we landed a big project.

After my presentation, the department head nodded and said one thing, “This doesn’t read like a new hire’s work. It’s polished.”

I smiled and said thank you.

…

That fall, I caught a cold during the season change.

I went to Northwood General. Check-in, wait in line.

The hallway was packed—elderly folks, kids, coughing from every direction.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes half-closed, and overheard two girls talking.

“You should see this doctor—my friend said he’s really cute.”

“Is he? I keep hearing that!”

“I think he’s married though,” one of them said. “I heard he has a girl’s picture on his desk.”

“That’s sweet—if it’s true.”

The overhead called my name. I stood up, file in hand, and walked into the exam room.

I sat down. Ethan was behind the desk, pen in hand, already pulling up my chart.

“What brings you in today?”

I froze.

Ethan. White coat, mask on, behind the desk, pen already moving toward my file.

He froze too.

A beat.

He recovered, put the pen down, pulled off the mask.

His face hadn’t changed much in three years. Sharper jawline. Darker eyes.

“Sophie.” He said my name.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

I sat down, handed him my file.

He opened it, wrote a few lines, then looked up.

“When did you get back?”

“June.”

“Where are you working now?”

“Sophie—how have you been?”

I looked at him. The question felt familiar.

He’d asked the same one in that London café.

Back then I said “I’m fine.”

Now I wanted to say the same.

But looking at his eyes, I just didn’t feel like answering.

“Is this relevant to the exam?”

I stood. My gaze caught the photo frame on his desk.

It was me. Smiling. It looked almost mocking.

I pulled out my phone and cancelled the appointment.

“Dr. Cole. Take that photo down. I never said you could use my picture.”

I walked out.

…

In November, a college friend organized a reunion.

The second I walked in, everyone’s heads turned.

“Sophie?!”

“You look so different!”