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.

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