He had expected the plan to reveal one thing. It had revealed several.
What it had revealed about Sofia was not, in the end, surprising — it was the confirmation of what he had begun to fear, and confirmation, even of a bad thing, is cleaner than uncertainty. She had arrived in black and cried in all the right moments and left when the requirements of the situation exceeded the benefits of remaining. He did not think she was villainous. He thought she had understood from the beginning, better than he had understood, that what she had with him was a transaction of mutual benefit, and that when the transaction’s terms changed sufficiently the benefit no longer justified the investment. This was honest, in its way. It was the honesty of someone who has never pretended to themselves about what they want, which was more than he could say for himself.
What it had revealed about himself was harder.
He had been conducting relationships — all of his relationships, not only with Sofia — with the same framework he applied to business: assessing utility, managing outcomes, optimizing for a particular return. He had treated the people in his life as variables in equations he was running, and he had been sufficiently skilled at this that no one had noticed, or perhaps everyone had noticed and had decided that the equation’s output was worth participating in. He had mistaken this for intimacy.
He had not noticed Emma. He had employed her, had found her work satisfactory, had occasionally reflected that she was excellent at her job. He had not noticed her the way you notice a person — had not considered what she wanted, what her days were like outside the villa’s fourteen rooms, what she went home to on the days she went home. He had not asked, in five years, whether she was happy.
He had not asked because he had not needed to ask. The equation did not require it.
And now he lay in the dark and heard, replaying in his memory, her voice telling her mother that she had always known it couldn’t go anywhere, that her feelings didn’t matter, that she just wanted someone to be there for him. The uncalculated quality of it. The total absence of strategy.
He thought about Sofia, who had calculated everything and still left.
He thought about Emma, who had calculated nothing and had stayed.
