Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 148

Sophie’s POV

I wake to the smell of coffee and something burning.

For a moment I just lie there, disoriented, body pleasantly sore in ways I'd forgotten were possible.

Then last night comes flooding back—the fighting, the talking, the desperate reconnection in this bed that left me feeling raw and exposed and maybe, just maybe, hopeful.

The smell of burning intensifies. I pull on Adrian's discarded shirt from the floor and pad toward the kitchen.

Adrian stands at the stove, spatula in hand, frowning at a pan of what might have once been toast.

He's wearing sweatpants and nothing else, his back still bearing faint red marks from my nails. The sight makes the heat pool low in my belly despite everything.

He turns when he hears me, and something in his expression softens.

"I was trying to make breakfast." He gestures at the smoking pan with visible embarrassment. "Clearly I'm better at other things."

The joke is tentative, testing. I move closer and peer at the charred bread. "Maybe stick to coffee?"

"Coffee I can do." He pours me a cup, adds cream exactly how I like it without asking. The small gesture feels monumental after weeks of coldness. "How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in months." The truth slips out before I can make it sound less vulnerable.

His eyes meet mine over the rim of his mug. "Me too."

We're careful with each other throughout the morning. Moving with tentative gentleness like we're handling something fragile that might shatter if we breathe too hard.

Adrian makes scrambled eggs while I feed Amelia her bottle. We don't touch, don't push, just exist in the same space without hostility for the first time in weeks.

When breakfast is ready, we settle Amelia in her high chair between us. She babbles happily, completely oblivious to the careful peace treaty her parents are attempting to negotiate.

Adrian prepares her pureed sweet potatoes—the ones she's been refusing lately—and offers the spoon with more patience than I've seen from him in weeks. She turns her head away predictably, and I brace for his frustration.

Instead he tries again. Makes an exaggerated face that startles a laugh from Amelia. She opens her mouth in surprise and he gets the spoon in before she realizes what's happening.

"Ha!" His genuine triumph makes me smile. "Tricked her."

He feeds her another spoonful, then another. Amelia accepts each one, distracted by Adrian's increasingly ridiculous facial expressions. When she reaches out and grabs his nose with a sweet potato-covered hand, he laughs instead of flinching away.

The sound stops my heart. Real laughter. Not forced or bitter or tinged with resentment. Just Adrian enjoying a moment with his daughter.

I watch them together and let myself hope. Maybe last night was a turning point. Maybe we can build on that physical reconnection, use it as the foundation for rebuilding everything else. Maybe we haven't destroyed this beyond repair.

Amelia smears more sweet potato across Adrian's cheek. He doesn't even wipe it away, just keeps making faces that delight her. Sophie from three months ago wouldn't recognize this scene.

For a few hours, it feels almost normal, like we're actually a family instead of strangers drowning in the same apartment.

Then the front door opens.

Bellamy's key in the lock. I'd forgotten it was time for his shift.

The atmosphere shifts so abruptly I actually feel the change in air pressure. Adrian's shoulders tense, the easy smile evaporating from his face like it never existed. His hand freezes mid-reach for another spoonful of sweet potato.

"Morning." Bellamy steps inside, professional as always. His eyes sweep the kitchen, cataloging the domestic scene with expression I can't read.

"You're early." Adrian's voice has gone flat, cold. All the warmth from moments ago locked away behind walls I thought we'd broken through last night.

"Actually right on time." Bellamy checks his watch. "Eight AM. Same as always."

Adrian stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the tile. "I need to make some calls. Sophie, can you…" He gestures vaguely at Amelia, at the breakfast remains, at everything he's suddenly desperate to escape.

"I've got it." My voice comes out smaller than intended.

He's already moving toward his study. Doesn't look back, doesn't acknowledge the shift from moments ago when he was laughing with his daughter. Just retreats into the man I've been living with for months—absent, closed off, unreachable.

The study door closes—not quite a slam, but deliberate enough to make the point.

I'm left sitting at the kitchen table with Amelia between me and Bellamy, the fragile hope from this morning already cracking under the weight of reality.

Bellamy moves into the kitchen with careful efficiency. Starts cleaning up the breakfast dishes without being asked, giving me space to finish feeding Amelia.

But I feel his presence acutely. Notice the way he positions himself near the sink, the professional distance he maintains, how he doesn't meet my eyes directly.

When I finally look up, I catch him watching me. Just for a second before his gaze slides away.

But in that second, I see the question written clearly in his expression: Are you okay?

I don't know how to answer. Don't know if I am okay or if I'm just pretending again, building hope on a foundation that can't support the weight.

"Sophie." Bellamy's voice is quiet. "If you need anything…"

"I'm fine." The lie tastes bitter. “Thanks.”

He doesn't push. Just nods and returns to the dishes with movements that suggest he doesn't believe me but won't force the conversation.

I wipe Amelia's face clean of sweet potato, lift her from the high chair. She settles against my shoulder with a contented sigh, full and sleepy.

I should feel grateful for this moment—my daughter peaceful in my arms, my body still humming from last night's reconnection with Adrian, a morning that started with something resembling normal family life.

Instead I feel the truth settling in my chest like stone.

Last night changed nothing fundamental.

We had sex—incredible, desperate, necessary sex that reminded us what we used to be. But in the harsh light of morning, all the underlying problems remain untouched. Adrian still can't sustain patience with Amelia.

Still retreats the moment something threatens his control. Still treats Bellamy's presence like an invasion rather than the support we desperately need.

And me? I'm still caught between two men—the father of my child who can't show up consistently, and the man who's been showing up every single day whether I acknowledge it or not.

The life we're living bears no resemblance to the lives we'd planned. Adrian wanted tenure and published books and intellectual legacy. I wanted to discover myself before motherhood consumed my identity.

We're both trapped in a reality neither of us chose, trying to force connection through physical intimacy while ignoring that everything else is still broken.

Physical reconnection can't fix emotional distance. Great sex doesn't solve the fundamental problem that Adrian and I are becoming strangers who occasionally remember what it felt like to be in love.

From his study, I hear Adrian's voice—low, tense, talking to someone I can't identify. Making plans I'm not part of, living a life separate from the one we're supposed to be building together.

Bellamy finishes the dishes, dries his hands, maintains that careful professional distance that somehow feels more intimate than Adrian's touch last night.

I carry Amelia toward the nursery, passing the closed study door without knocking.

Last night didn't fix us. It just postponed the inevitable conversation we're both too terrified to have.