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Sophie Baek sat quietly under the loud, fluorescent lights of a launderette, trying not to feel too much despair. Just £5 per load, promised the hand-written signs posted in the windows. There was nothing wrong with public laundry, per se. What was wrong was with the way the voice in her head wouldn’t stop replaying her failures that brought her back here, to this anonymous place where no one noticed her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed Benedict away like she did two weeks prior. She knew that she certainly did not feel any better than when she asked him for a break. She told him she needed time to ground herself. Oh, how she had so quickly gotten lost in him and the way he loved her. She didn’t deserve it and he would someday realize it. And now, after asking him for space and silence, Sophie was unsuccessfully working through large, unanswered questions — would the joy of loving him for a little while outweigh the hurt of his inevitable abandonment? Surely a man so pure and perfect would ultimately match with a partner who was on his level. Someone unbroken and in less need of repair. But couldn’t she indulge, just for some time? Or would losing him destroy her completely?
Sure, he had shown signs of moving forward together. Thoughtful signs like stocking his bathroom cabinet with fresh bottles of her favorite skin care so she could stay over more often. Serious signs like asking long-range questions about where she saw herself living in the future. But Sophie knew her place and it likely was not where she so desired to be — living a carefree, blissful life with Benedict Bridgerton. Her stepmother had taught her not to expect as much.
What had she learned in these two long weeks spent alone in her thoughts?
It seemed the only thing she knew for sure was how deeply she felt the absence of Benedict in her life.
The buzzer of a nearby washing machine shook her free from her mental spiral.
She hadn’t been to this place in months. Only a few weeks after they met, Benedict arranged to have her laundry sent to the cleaners alongside his. She had to admit, it was pretty nice to receive her clothing laundered and folded. It was one of the simple luxuries he had laced through her life with care that she ended up rejecting out of her own self-pity.
And now, because of her cowardice, she was back here at the launderette in her working class neighborhood far from high society, spending her only day off in the land of spinning dryers and snack machines. At least she had coins readily available from her shifts at the restaurant.
Her eyes lingered on the television turned to BBC. A mid-morning feature on the amount of microplastics found in drinking water. With shame, she set down her plastic bag of crisps.
Nina Warhust cut into the program, the words BREAKING NEWS flashing in red.
Sophie’s hands flew to her mouth when the chyron inched across the screen, sharing a terrible message.
PARLIAMENT MEMBER JOHN STIRLING DEAD AT 34
An incoherent noise escaped her.
There was no way this could be true.
She had just sat across from him at a Bridgerton Sunday dinner three weeks ago. He shared his thoughts about the Scotland football team and commented on how miserable long sessions in Parliament could be when he’d rather be home with his wife.
Sophie liked John. He was another shy outsider who had fallen in love with a Bridgerton. That unique experience alone was enough to connect them.
She watched, horrified, as video footage showed highlights of his public life. Him chairing a committee meeting in the Palace of Westminster. Then, his arm wrapped proudly around Francesca’s waist on the red carpet of a charity event, probably Violet Bridgerton’s annual fundraiser. Yes, of course. The next scene showed the smiling couple mingling inside last year’s event with the extended Bridgerton family. Benedict. The night they met.
Sophie’s chest cracked.
Why was this happening? Was Francesca alright? What if they were in a car crash? The closed captions weren’t keeping up with the words leaving the anchor’s mouth. Sophie rose to her feet. She needed answers.
“Where, where is the remote?” she asked no one, but everyone. “Turn up the volume! What are they saying?”
One man glanced up toward the television, then put his eyes back down to his phone. A pair of older gentlemen playing cards ignored her completely.
Sophie reached for her phone and held it up, hands shaking. Her boyfriend, if she could even call him that, looked back at her through the glass. She couldn’t make herself change the photo, which wasn’t helping much with her self-imposed “grounding” efforts. Benedict’s sometimes green, sometimes blue, always intoxicating eyes were bright and shining at her with love. Her heart ached for him, but she didn’t know how he’d react if she called and now was not the moment to test his emotions.
She dialed Eloise instead as she walked out onto the sidewalk. His sister answered without words, only tears, on the second ring.
“Eloise,” Sophie breathed. “What’s going on?”
“Oh my god, it’s terrible,” Eloise choked out. “John is dead. Anthony texted saying he’s gone. Francesca must be a mess,” she cried.
The confirmation tore through Sophie, serving as the catalyst for her first round of tears.
“What do you need? I’m across town, but I can be there.”
“I’m on my way to Bridgerton House. We all are. Come!”
“I’m coming,” Sophie told her, before she could think it through.
“I can’t reach Benedict. Have you?” Eloise asked. Sophie’s brows furrowed. Had he not told his closest sister about their… distance?
“No,” she answered.
“Oh, Hyacinth is calling. See you at my mum’s.”
Sophie rushed back inside, choking back sobs, and pulled her half-dry laundry into her bag. She considered hauling it with her to Mayfair, but decided to spend the fifteen extra minutes to drop it at home. Hopefully it would help her collect herself before going to the Bridgerton’s.
On the tube, she read the news stories. They all reported the same cause — brain aneurysm. Then she remembered Eloise’s comment about not being able to reach Benedict. Was he OK? God, why was she too scared to call him? She felt sick and needed air, and practically ran out of the train and up the stairs at Bond Street Station.
She took deep breaths on the walk to Bridgerton House, willing herself to be calm for everyone else. If nothing else, she could help ensure the group was fed lunch and kept warm with tea.
Sophie reached the iron gate of their Georgian-style ancestral home, quickly entering the password and slipping inside. The wisteria was beautifully in bloom, illuminated by the late spring sun. A cruel twist on a dark day.
Mrs. Wilson opened the front door for Sophie, with a long face.
“Welcome, Ms. Baek. The family is through here,” she said, leading the way to the drawing room. “May God help them,” she expressed quietly. Sophie put her head down.
She wasn’t prepared for the heaviness that awaited her.
Violet sobbed near the window with Gregory’s arm around her. Eloise and Hyacinth sat together, clutching each other’s hands and crying. None of the older brothers were there yet.
Eloise was the first to notice her. “Oh, Sophie,” she said, standing up.
“Eloise, I’m so sorry,” Sophie said, tears filling her eyes again. She wrapped her friend in a hug, but felt uncomfortable invading the family’s intimate moment. “I’m not sure I should be here,” Sophie said softly. “Perhaps I should return later.”
Eloise pulled away and looked at her. “Nonsense, Sophie. You are family.”
Sophie offered a sad smile.
“Where is Benedict?” his sister asked.
“I, I don’t know…”
“You still haven’t reached him?” Her raised voice caught the attention of Violet, who slipped out of Gregory’s grasp and made her way to Sophie.
“Sophie, darling,” Violet took her hands.
“Mrs. Bridgerton, I’m so sorry. John was a wonderful man.”
“Yes. Yes, this is quite unexpected.” Violet stifled another sob and turned back toward Gregory’s embrace.
“I’m here to help with anything you might need.” Suddenly, Violet realized Sophie was alone.
“Where is my son? Where’s Benedict?”
“I will call him again,” Sophie lied, the guilt crushing her. What right did she have to come here? She hadn’t spoken to him in two weeks. She hadn’t answered his I miss you, tell me you’re alright texts and now she felt ashamed. When he did show up, seeing her would only upset him, she was sure of it.
Suddenly, she heard Benedict’s pained voice float through the room. “Mother,” he said.
Then, in disbelief and hardly audible, “Sophie.”
She exhaled with relief at the sight of him.
They caught each other’s eyes as he stood in the threshold of the room, seemingly frozen in place. His face was pale, his confused eyes swollen and red with tears. He looked a bit slimmer, too, and almost like he’d seen a ghost. He swallowed and glanced down, breaking their eye contact.
“Brother!” Eloise filled the silence. Violet moved toward her second born son as he entered the room. His siblings followed suit, the reunions bringing more hugs and more tears.
Sophie drifted back to the edge of the room, looking for Mrs. Wilson. She should make herself useful, give him space. Damn, she really was a coward.
Everyone was clearly in shock, not even noticing that Sophie had slipped away without greeting him.
She worried if her presence during their family emergency would upset him even further. She worried their distance would become noticeable and distracting. She worried that she had no right to be in this room, with this wealthy, educated, aristocratic family.
Finally, Mrs. Wilson reentered with a tray of tea and pastries, with Colin and Penelope behind her. The arrival of additional family brought a new energy to the group and allowed Sophie to make herself busy with the refreshments. She poured tea into the cups, adding a hearty dose of sugar in each of them. Everyone’s words overlapped.
“Anthony and Kate are with Francesca at the hospital…” she overheard Hyacinth explaining.
“The news is reporting a brain aneurysm. Who could have leaked that?” demanded Penelope.
“This makes me miss Father,” said Gregory solemnly.
“Daphne is on her way from Clyvedon,” Violet told her children.
Sophie swirled sugar around in a mug. A familiar, warm hand rested on her wrist, causing her movement to halt.
Her head turned to face Benedict who was now standing next to her. His face was cast down, and she studied the sharp cut in his jaw. He hadn’t been shaving. She couldn’t deny the physical signs that gave her heart an answer — how comforting it felt to be near him again, how her body relaxed, how her thoughts steadied.
“Benedict,” she said. His sad eyes met hers. “I’m here. I’m here for you,” she said as she turned into him.
He let out a shaky sigh and melted into her embrace.
“I’m glad you are,” he managed to say.
“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly enough that only he could hear. “I’m sorry, Benedict. I’m so sorry.” Sophie prayed her simple apology would be enough at this moment, that he could understand all of the things she was sorry for — for the loss of his brother-in-law, for walking away from him when he did nothing to deserve the abandonment, for showing up announced with so much unspoken between them.
Benedict’s hands cradled her head against his chest. Her tears bled into his linen shirt, her arms locked around his waist.
They stayed like that for a while, holding each other in the corner of the formal room full of his grieving, shocked family. The warmth of his body began to melt her insecurities, making her believe that everything was going to be alright. That they could move on from her mistake…
But once the moment ended, Sophie felt cold again.
Anthony, Kate and Francesca arrived and the room grew heavier. Benedict broke apart from her to focus on his sister, the new widow, and kept his distance. Sophie handed cups of tea to anyone who would accept one and helped Mrs. Wilson with the lunch order from the nearby deli.
Throughout the afternoon, when she felt his eyes on her, she looked back, casting longing looks across the room. Then, when she was sitting next to Hyacinth, who was filling her in on the drama of her friend group, he came over and joined the conversation. When Sophie felt it was time to leave the two of them be, his fingers brushed over her hand as she walked away.
Long after the food came and went mostly untouched, when Violet and Anthony began discussions of releasing a public statement, Sophie watched as Benedict slipped through the door leading to the gardens. He must have needed fresh air. Despite the much larger tragedy at hand, she felt Eloise’s slanted eyes on hers, likely starting to piece things together.
Sophie offered her a weak smile and followed him out the door. He slowed down to allow her to catch up to him and they ventured to the garden side by side, probably for appearances sake and nothing else.
“I know you want space,” she said as they walked, the familiar words feeling like nails in her coffin. “But I could tell Eloise was catching on to us.”
Benedict let out a sarcastic laugh, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “And what was she catching on to?”
If he was sad and shocked earlier, now he seemed angry. And that was out of character for him. It stung, but she deserved it.
“That I’m a weak woman who doesn’t know how to accept the love of this family.”
He shook his head and walked in front of her now, skimming his fingers across the tops of his mother’s roses planted perfectly in rows. His silence stretched into eternity.
After the enormous moment, he stopped and turned to face her. The late afternoon sun caught his left eye, turning it into a golden orb.
“You’re stronger than you think you are.” His expression softened. “Thank you for helping out today.”
“Of course,” Sophie said gently, moving closer to him. “Benedict…”
She didn’t know how to follow up after speaking those three beautiful syllables. They were both shattered beings, weighed down by the way the world had shifted today. She had so much to say, but didn’t know where to start.
Instead, she attempted to simply care for him.
“Why don’t you try to get some rest?” Sophie encouraged him. “I can take you home, if you’d like.”
“I want to stay near my family,” he replied.
“I understand,” she said, offering him a gentle smile. “Still, you should take some time to relax. Come with me. I’ll help you get settled in your room here.” He shrugged and followed her inside.
It’s not as if Benedict needed directions to the bedroom he grew up in, but Sophie desperately wanted a moment alone with him, far from the watchful eyes of his siblings and mother. In his room, he went straight for the window, his back to her. She shut the door and self-consciously sat on the bed, giving him the isolation he clearly wanted.
After a long moment of silence, she spoke up.
“I hope you don’t mind that I showed up. Eloise asked me to come. I thought maybe I could help, make sure everyone had something to eat. And, and to support you. I’m not sure if anyone knows what’s going on between us.” He didn’t respond or turn to look her way. “I’m not sure if I really know, either. I do know I’ve missed you, Benedict, so much.”
Something in her explanation must have triggered something in him, because when he finally turned to face her, his expression was dark.
“Look, Sophie,” Benedict started. “I can’t handle your rejection again. Not right now, when I’m barely hanging on.”
His words stung. He had every right to say them, but they cut her deep. Rejection? How could he think she was rejecting him? She was rejecting herself.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Ben. If I am, I will leave.” Sophie paused.
"Tell me what you need from me,” she pleaded, standing up.
“What I need from you?” he scoffed, running his hand through the back of his hair and down his neck. “I just need you!” he practically shouted. Benedict turned toward the window again.
“OK,” Sophie whispered. “I’m here.” She walked over to him slowly and placed a hand on his sunken shoulder. He still just looked so sad, so worn down.
“Turn around.”
He obliged.
She placed her hands on his cheeks and used her thumbs to wipe the tears spilling from his eyes. He leaned into her touch.
“Why don’t you want me, Sophie?”
The false accusation broke her heart. Of course she wanted him. She wanted him more than anything else she could imagine. Her insecurities won out on the day she asked him for space, for time, to work through her own issues.
But in this moment when he was broken, hurting and needing her love, she couldn’t help but give it back to him. He had done the same for her, many times.
And if the tragic events of the day taught her anything, it was that loss — true, permanent loss — could strike at any moment. She didn’t want to lose him.
“I want you, Benedict,” she whispered. “I want you more than anything.” His swollen eyes locked on hers, and she knew he was exploring her soul for the truth.
She knew how to prove it, knew what they both needed right now.
Sophie pressed her lips to his, instantly relishing in the feel of him against her once again. Her hand slid through his hair, and she pulled him closer with her grip.
“Sophie,” he moaned, breaking away for a breath. She nodded her head yes and he sat back on the windowsill. She fell into him and his hands gripped her hips to hold her in place.
This kiss was slow and gentle, like they were learning each other for the first time. She tasted the salt of his tears against her tongue.
When they pulled apart, Benedict took her hand and held it against his heart.
“Seeing Fran lose her husband today…” he started. Sophie wrapped her other hand around his, clutching his heart with everything she had. Benedict bit his lower lip and shook his head.
“Life is short, Sophie. Not everybody finds this.” Another tear slipped down her cheek. “I want to be with you.”
Sophie smiled and pressed her forehead against his, their eyes searching each other.
“I love you, Benedict.”
“I understand why you’re scared. I am too. But you make me feel so good. About myself, about the future. I won’t hurt you, Sophie.”
Sophie sighed, a physical release of some of the toxic doubt that had been building up inside of her for years. Benedict was here, and he was safe. If she just breathed, and trusted him, maybe she could allow herself to really let go.
“I believe you.”
As the evening sun sank lower, slowly bringing a twilight glow to Benedict’s childhood bedroom, the couple lay together in silence. After two weeks apart, and the shocking loss of John Stirling that day, the quiet moment served as a balm for their souls.
Sophie’s head rested on Benedict’s chest that slowly rose up and down in tune with his relaxed breathing. The comfort of being back in his arms, paired with his long fingers threading through her hair, were lulling her into a restorative rest.
As the room grew dark, Benedict placed a kiss against her temple. “Don’t leave me, Sophie,” he whispered.
Sophie made her choice.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She would stay with him until he decided to leave.
He never did.