Checkmate Extended Epilogue - Sophie
Dreams do come true.
After everything I have been through, all the struggles I have had to endure, I am now a firm believer that life can give you everything you could ever want.
But it doesn’t take too much for dreams to turn into nightmares, and for reality to come crashing down.
It’s hard to believe that only eight years ago, I was moping around a dingy apartment in Alex’s boxers with a baby hanging off my tit.
I’ve made it.
Everything I always thought I deserved is mine.
Rich husband? Check.
Fancy house? Check.
Staff who wait on me hand and foot? You betcha.
Money troubles are behind me. I could go on a week-long shopping spree in Milan, and still not make a dent in my husband’s fortune.
And believe me, I’ve tried.
That’s where I’m heading now, in fact. A little me time. I’ve taken the credit card, the most gorgeous suitcase from Harrods, and the intention to fill it with the most expensive, most luxurious clothing I can find.
It’s going to be so much fun, I’m sure.
Even if I was only out there last month.
But that doesn’t matter, does it?
No. No!
Who needs company?
Honestly, I’m glad Mitch turned me down when I asked him to accompany me. Having someone with me would knock me off my stride. Who needs someone telling you to slow down? Or asking you if you really need another cream cashmere scarf.
Honestly, Julia deserved to get fired for that one. No maid should have the audacity to question my purchases.
Especially because it wasn’t even fucking cream. It was beige.
I only invited her to come with me because I was feeling a little off that day and I needed someone to keep watch over me.
You know.
Just in case.
But instead of keeping her mouth shut, she had to make her comments and got herself fired.
It’s hardly my fault, is it?
“Addie! Wait up!”
A blur of raven curls whizzes past me, making me gasp as I lift my hand to my chest. A little cherub face grins at me and waves.
“Sorry, Miss. It’s my brother, see.”
I barely have time to process what she’s saying before another dark-haired angel rushes past, a toy airplane held above his head as he chases his sister.
For a moment, all I can do is stop and watch them, my heart giving a painful thud.
They must be around Maxxie’s age.
Definitely no older than Odette.
I could sit and watch them play all day and never tire of it, but it does no good to dwell, so I force myself to turn away.
But I have to admit, a little of my sparkle is gone.
This trip no longer seems fun. I suppose if I am being truly honest with myself, I might admit that I am, perhaps, a touch lonely.
Let’s face it.
I didn’t get married for love.
My (much older) husband chose me because I’m beautiful and look good on his arm.
Like a very expensive accessory.
Sure, we share a marital bed, and if I’m particularly lucky, he won’t pop the Viagra and I get to go to sleep untouched. It’s not even as though he’s a shit fuck. The man is still attractive for his age, and he’s a very giving lover. But there’s nothing between us.
No love.
No lust.
No spark.
Not like it was with Alex.
But it doesn’t do to think about him.
“This is a passenger announcement for customers travelling on flight BA574 to Milan Malpensa. Please proceed to Gate 32. Boarding will commence shortly.”
I look up at the departures board automatically, tightening my grip on the suitcase handle.
I have time for coffee, I’m sure.
Nodding to myself, I walk purposefully towards the kiosk, keeping my eyes forward and not on the siblings playing nearby.
I wonder how they’re doing.
Nope.
I wonder if they play together like that.
We’re not doing this.
I wonder if they miss me—
“Large, extra-hot, half-caf oat-milk flat white with an extra shot,” I say in one breath. “Two pumps of sugar-free vanilla and exactly one pump of caramel.”
“Sorry, love. You’ll have to say that again, I didn’t hear a word.”
And no wonder.
I can feel my face flaming because I’m not even sure what came out of my mouth was English. I rattled off the first thing I could think of to force the more unpleasant things from my mind.
I repeat my order more deliberately this time. Slower.
The barista raises his eyebrow and I stare him down. There’s no way I am the most difficult order today. He should hear what the women want in Chelsea.
Now those are difficult orders.
Alex used to say you couldn’t beat a flat white, two sugars. And as I take a sip after paying for my drink, I hate to admit it, but he was right. I don’t even like this damn coffee.
But it cost a fortune.
It’s smooth and luxurious. At least according to the advertisements.
It has to be good.
It’s like tweed. No one wears it because it feels good. They wear it because it’s fucking expensive.
Shaun used to wear tweed.
Every night after work, we’d go to his car and he’d lay out his tweed jacket along the back seat and fuck me furiously while the fabric scratched my backside, and his kid’s toys stared at me from the dashboard.
Fucking Shaun.
The minute his wife got wind of me, he ended things. No amount of begging and pleading could get him to reconsider. All the tricks I pulled on Alex all those years ago didn’t even faze fucking Shaun.
He’s still married.
I check his socials now and then, just to see. I don’t know if his wife ever knew the full truth, but it seemed they managed to get through the hurdle that was Sophie Carr.
Unfortunately for me, Alex did find out.
And he wasted no time serving me divorce papers and filing for full custody. I was prepared to fight him tooth and nail, but then I met Mitch.
He actually owned the call centre Shaun was managing. That and about half a dozen other businesses. I don’t think all of them were entirely above board, but I find it better not to waste time worrying about it.
At first, I was kind of offended that this old dude was hitting on me. I was young. In my prime. Absolutely too good for an ageing criminal with a receding hairline.
But then he fired Shaun and bought me jewellery from Tiffany’s.
Suddenly, his age didn’t bother me all that much.
Nor did the Viagra or the cock pumps.
The man paid for my divorce, bought me a new wardrobe and moved me into a luxury mansion before the ink was even dry on the divorce certificate.
I owed him more than I could give him.
But I paid the price in the end.
I pay the price every day.
“Hey watch it!”
“Sorry!”
The old lady doesn’t look sorry as she waves me off, dragging an ugly suitcase behind her. I watch as she rushes towards an old man with an equally ugly suitcase who greets her with a smile, immediately taking her luggage from her.
Suddenly disgruntled, I glance down at my own suitcase which feels heavier than it did only seconds ago.
I wish I had someone to lovingly take my things for me.
Okay, not helpful.
Tightening my grip on the handle, I walk towards my departure gate with easy, confident strides. I’m not letting some old couple ruin my day. I don’t need someone to take my luggage.
I am strong.
Capable.
Miss Inde-fucking-pendant.
That’s Mrs Inde-fucking-pendant.
I glance down at my ring. Right. Married. Someone’s Missus.
Except… Well. My husband isn’t here, is he? Neither are my children. My family. A friend.
I have no one.
It doesn’t matter where I look, I can’t escape reality because in every direction there are couples embracing, mothers comforting children, siblings playing rambunctiously.
What is it that Hugh Grant says at the beginning of Love Actually?
Something about airports being proof that love is everywhere, if you bother to look for it.
Well, I’m fucking looking.
Men waiting with flowers, staring intently at the gates. A father crouched on the floor, tying the shoelace of his son who is just desperate to get back to playing. Teenagers embracing in a group hug, ready to explore the world together.
Old couples. Young couples. Exhausted toddlers napping peacefully against their mother’s chest. Friends. Siblings. Grandparents reunited with their grandchildren.
There’s no escaping it.
This airport feels claustrophobic. Like the walls are closing in around me. Like these people with their loved ones are pressing against me until I’m trapped here with no one, drowning under the weight of their love for each other.
I have to get out of here.
I have to breathe.
I have to—
“Excuse me, Miss? You dropped this.”
The child is heart-achingly beautiful, his big, trusting eyes on mine as he holds out my coin-purse. I hadn’t even realised I’d dropped it.
He’s the same one from earlier, I realise. Only his sister is nowhere to be seen and his airplane is gone.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I say, crouching until I’m at his level. “That was very honest of you. Most little boys would have kept it.”
His cheeky smile makes my heart flip. “I thought about it.”
“Oh, you did?” I laugh. “Then good on you for making such a grown-up decision!”
The urge to pull him into my arms and mother him is unbearable. “I think my son would have kept it,” I say.
“You have a son?”
“I have two,” I say proudly. “A daughter too.”
“You do? That’s cool.” He sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “That’s almost the same as my mum. I have one sister. We’re twins.”
“Twins? How exciting. You must have a lot of fun.”
“We do,” he agrees. “She’s gone to get ice cream with my dad.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky? And where’s your mum, sweetie?”
I could sit and talk to him all day. But somewhere there has to be a worried mother looking for him.
“Oh, she’s over there,” he says, waving vaguely behind him. “It’s okay. She says she has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Mums are good at that,” I agree.
“Where are your kids, anyway?” he asks, looking suspiciously at my suitcase as though I’ve stowed them away in there.
If only.
“They’re not here,” I say, clearing my throat as it stings with emotion.
“Bummer. I was going to share my ice cream.”
I laugh again, curling my fingers into my palms so I don’t ruffle his hair. “You’re sweet. What’s your name, hon?”
“Ja-ackson! Ice cream!”
His eyes light up, grinning from ear to ear. “I gotta go! Nice to meet you, Miss!”
Quick as a flash, he rushes through the crowd. I straighten up, following him with my eyes as he rejoins his family. I turn to his mother to offer a friendly smile, only for my veins to turn to ice.
No.
No, it can’t be.
Erica soothes her fingers through her son’s hair as her eyes meet mine. I can feel myself tensing, and neither fight nor flight is kicking in. Instead, I am frozen, rooted to the spot as though my Louboutins are caught in the tiles.
She nods once in acknowledgement as she turns her gaze back to her children. The little girl looks just like her and she stares back at her mother with such adoration it makes me want to weep.
Odette used to look at me like that.
Before she realised what a colossal fuck-up her mother is.
I scan the area, hoping to see Marcus. If the universe holds even an ounce of kindness for me, he’ll be balding and sporting a beer gut.
But of course, no such luck.
Instead of balding, Marcus has a head full of thick grey hair that he still wears to his shoulders. The glasses I once thought were nerdy give him a distinguished look. And the beer belly I was hoping for is non-existent. Instead, he’s trim, broad and fucking gorgeous.
The definition of a silver fox.
Well played, universe. Well played.
I just had to run into them today of all days, didn’t I?
I’m going to Milan to escape my past, not be reminded of it at every turn. I mean, this is just ridiculous, isn’t it? For a moment, I wonder if I’m dead. Maybe on the way to the airport there was a massive car accident and I’m actually lying on a morgue table, and this is my hell, forced to confront all the horrible decisions I’ve made in my life.
And there is one decision above all the others that truly haunts me.
Mitch is a grandfather. His daughter is around my age, and an annoying twit of a woman. But she’s a good mother to her two children, Mitch’s grandchildren, who he absolutely dotes on.
After he paid for my divorce and swept me off my feet, he made it clear that it was me he wanted. Not my children. And certainly not the drama of shared custody.
His grand-babies were enough of a handful for him without adding my three into the mix.
And so, he gave me a choice.
I could figure out co-parenting with a man who hated me and wanted nothing more than to have me out of his life. Or, I could agree to give Alex full custody and walk away from my children and into a life of wealth.
The fact he felt he could even ask that of me made it clear what kind of mother I was presenting myself as.
I won’t pretend the decision to walk away was some great sacrifice for me. Sure, I think my children are better off without me, but I had moments where I shone as their mother.
A mother isn’t always a mum, however.
I walked away from them because the money was a far more attractive prospect. I walked away because I wanted a life that was all my own, without someone tugging on my sleeve demanding my attention.
I walked away because I’m selfish.
Four years ago, on this very day, was the last time I ever saw them.
Little Oscar was barely a year old. Maxxie was still in nappies. And my beautiful little mini-me, Odette, was in her first year of nursery. There was no emotional goodbye, no little girl chasing me down the street as I rode away in the back of a cab.
I simply walked out of the door, head held high and never walked back in again.
They didn’t even realise what was happening.
But I’m sure Alex explained as best as he could. I’m not even going to pretend I don’t respect him for stepping up the way he did. He’s a fantastic father.
When I realised the anniversary was creeping up on me, I reached out to him on a whim after one too many proseccos.
I told him I missed him, which is true, and that I still hold many fond memories of him. I think he was the one real love of my life, and I threw it all away and fucked it all up chasing money that hasn’t brought me even close to the happiness he did.
We understand each other, Alex and I.
But he never got over Erica the way I needed him to, and I am incredibly good at pretending I got over him.
I asked about the children and how they were doing. I asked for pictures.
He wasn’t cruel when he replied.
But he wasn’t exactly nice either.
He informed me that the children were happy and thriving and that they had a mum now.
Just like me, Alex is on his third marriage. Unlike me, he married for unselfish reasons.
I chose money. He chose a mum for our children.
I didn’t even know how to respond when he told me he’d shacked up with the nanny. A nanny I had personally screened years ago thinking she wasn’t at all his type.
Well, what a fucking idiot I am.
Seems like once again the universe is having a big ol’ laugh at my expense.
Funny, isn’t it? I spent all that time envious of Erica, wanting what she had, only to find myself with everything I ever wanted and yet still… back at the beginning, envious of Erica, wanting what she has.
I don’t have my children or the sweet, loving husband.
But I do have a boarding pass, a credit card, and an empty suitcase begging to be filled with expensive clothes.
I know who I am, and who I'm not.
And what I'm not is a little bitch who cries over things she can't change.
I made my bed. And as the old saying goes...
Well, who gives a shit? I can buy a new bed.
With one last glance towards Erica and her family, I grab my luggage and walk towards the gate with my head held high.