Save Her Lose Us (Evangeline and Soren) novel Chapter 226

Evangeline turned, puzzled.

Night had settled in, and the dim, amber streetlights sagged against the darkness like old men, weary and fading, barely lighting the cracked pavement.

Soren stood beneath the weakest lamp, dressed only in a white shirt and black waistcoat. The light softened him, stripping away the usual chill in his presence and leaving something unexpectedly gentle.

He was still catching his breath, probably from running to catch up with her.

When she glanced back, he finally slowed, heavy footsteps bringing him to a stop right in front of her.

Tonight, Soren looked like a child who’d just lost his favorite toy—so different from the man she thought she knew.

Whatever sarcastic words Evangeline had prepared melted away the moment she saw him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

Soren’s steps faltered. For a long moment, he couldn’t answer.

What was wrong with him?

He honestly didn’t know.

He stared at the rundown apartment building, then thought of that cramped, suffocating room upstairs—the one Evangeline was renting now.

A sharp ache rose in his chest.

He’d always assumed she’d chosen this place just to provoke him, to get his attention. Only tonight did he realize he’d been wrong.

This wasn’t some childish game or a ploy for pity.

She genuinely had nowhere else to go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” After a long silence, Soren’s voice was low and rough. “About the expenses for the house—I never meant to withhold anything. I just… forgot.”

Evangeline gave a short, bitter laugh.

Forgotten.

He never forgot anything about Poppy. He even kept track of the time difference when Poppy was abroad, just to make sure not to call when she might be sleeping.

“Right. When you don’t care, it’s easy to forget,” Evangeline said quietly. “Is that the only reason you came here tonight?”

Her indifference stung more than anger ever could.

She was like this about the baby too. Soren would have preferred her rage—an argument, a fight—over this calm, distant acceptance that left him no chance to explain.

Later, she’d repotted it in something prettier, put it in the sunroom at the house, and tended it every day—watering, pruning, caring for it.

He had never expected her to keep it alive this long.

He certainly hadn’t expected her to throw it away after five years.

Soren stood stiffly, a leaden weight pressing against his ribs. He couldn’t shake the sense that, for Evangeline, that peony was him—was their marriage.

He struggled for words, breath catching. “You kept it alive for five years. Five years—and you’re just throwing it away?”

Evangeline guessed what he was thinking and let out a soft, almost amused sigh. “Yes. Five years. At first, it was hard to let go.”

“But then I realized—five years is just a number.”

“If I want, I can have another five years. And another after that. There’s no reason to cling to one set of five years and let it ruin me.”

After all, holding onto the past, watching the leaves and roots rot, only brings more pain.

She’d barely finished before Soren caught her face in his hands and turned her to him, not gently.

His eyes were red, voice low and cold. “You make it sound so easy. Then what about me, Evangeline? Are you going to throw me away too?”