“What?”
“I debated on whether I should tell you—I don’t want to make you feel bad—but I think you’d want to know.”
I push a strand of hair behind her ear, encouraging her with a smile.
“When you first found out, you said I should have done more to find you—”
“Sofia, I’m sorry.” I let out a regretful sigh. “I was upset. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay. But you should know I did try.”
“What do you mean?”
“I messaged your band’s social media page when I couldn’t reach you or Andreas by phone.”
My face scrunches up. “I never saw anything. We have assistants who field those comments.”
“I don’t think any of the messages were ever read.”
I nod, thinking. “We get thousands of comments a month. I’m sure many go unread.”
Sofia nods, scrolls through the phone, and hands it back to me. “Scroll through these outgoing messages. I’ll give you a minute while I shower.”
With shaky hands, I take the phone and start reading.
First message:This is Sofia trying to reach Bren. It’s important. Please have him call me back.
Second message:Bren, I hope you see this. I’m out of ideas to contact you. I wanted to tell you in person, but I guess I can’t. I’m pregnant.
I draw my eyes closed with pain. She told me. She told me about Addy. Regret brings a sharp sting to my eyes, and I keep scrolling through the messages.
Third message:I had my first OB-GYN appointment today. Both Spawn and I are healthy. Wanted you to know.
Spawn? What the literal fuck? I’m going to have to ask Sofia about this.
Fourth message:I heard Spawn’s heartbeat today. It was beautiful, and it has me thinking about you a lot. I hope you are well.
Fifth message:I hate you, Brenner Reindhart! Being pregnant is the worst. I pee all the time, and my feet are the size of an elephant’s. I can’t wait for the day science catches up and we can force the men through the hell that is pregnancy!
I chuckle. I can almost hear Sofia yelling at me all through the late stages of her pregnancy.
Sixth message:I picked up my mom from the airport today. She’ll be helping out after the delivery and will be joining me in the delivery room. Wish it were you, but I’m happy she’s here. We are both doing fine, and Spawn is healthy.
Seventh message:It’s a girl. She was born at seven pounds, three ounces. She’s perfect, Bren. I wish you could meet her. I named her Audrey. And I gave her your last name. I hope you won’t mind, but I want her to know who her father is one day.
A long, regretful tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away so I can clear the blurriness from my eyes and keep reading.
Eighth message:I was a little worried and took Addy to see the doctor. She isn’t crying all that much, and I thought something might be wrong. But the doctor checked her out, and she is perfectly healthy. She said I was lucky to have such a calm baby, and it just means she’s happy. I feel better now. Our daughter is perfect. Thought you should know.
Ninth message:The bigger she gets, the more she looks like us. She has your eyes and my lips. She’s going to be a looker. I can tell.
I keep reading message after message with updates from Sofia. I stop counting, but I estimate somewhere between one-hundred and one-hundred-and-fifty.
The last message came through a week before I showed up at her bar:She stood up today! I thought it was a little odd she isn’t walking even though she’s almost one, but the doctor assured me it’s still within normal range. Lola and I haven’t been able to get her to take a step, but at least she’s standing up! I’m so excited! But also sad. She’s growing up so fast.
Sofia’s face falls when she sees me full-blown weeping as she comes out of the shower—the phone pressed to my chest.
“Bren.” Her own eyes turn glassy.