SOPHIA’S POV
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as I drove.
My phone kept buzzing on the seat, and when I picked up again, I heard Bianca’s broken voice.
"Sophia... he did it again" she said "He... he slept with that girl. That sa girl, can you imagine?" She hiccuped, sniffling loudly. She was talking about her boyfriend who was nothing but a scumbag. "I thought he changed. I thought he loved ."
I kept my eyes on the road, "Bianca, I know it hurts. I know exactly how it feels, believe ." My claws threatened to push out at the mory, but I kept them in check. "But you don’t deserve this. Not this kind of pain, not this kind of disrespect."
She sobbed harder. "But I love him."
"Love shouldn’t bruise your chest like this," I murmured, and my wolf howled quietly inside , rembering the nights I cried over Damien, over his coldness, over the way he left marks on my heart. "Love shouldn’t make you feel like you’re begging to be chosen."
"But I’m not ready to leave." She whispered. "What if he really changes? What if I’m throwing away sothing good?"
"Bianca, you’re not throwing away sothing good. You’re letting go of sothing that’s drowning you."
Her breath hitched. "Sophia... how did you know when to walk away? How did you do it?"
My heart twisted. The truth was, I wasn’t fully out of it yet. It still hurt.
But I said, honestly, "Because the mont I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself anymore, I knew I had already lost more than I should have. That’s when I walked. Or tried to."
She went quiet. And then, she spoke "I don’t want to be alone."
"You’re not alone," I said imdiately. "I’m coming to get you. I won’t leave you alone tonight."
"Okay."
When I found her outside the club, her makeup was smudged. She had her shoes in her hands. I wrapped my arms around her instantly. She collapsed into , burying her face into my shoulder. "Sophia... I’m so stupid."
"You’re not stupid," I whispered, running my hand down her back. "You’re just hurting. And you’re drunk. Co on, let’s go."
She clung to all the way to the car, and when I settled her into the passenger seat, she looked at with teary confused eyes.
"Why does it feel like it hurts everywhere? Even my wolf feels tired."
"Because your heart is tired." I pushed her hair behind her ear gently. "And hearts heal slower than bones."
She sniffed. "Can I sleep?"
"Yes, sleep." I started the car again, and she dozed off with her head against the window.
*
The next morning, I got dressed for the market, tying my hair back and slipping comfortable sandals on. It was my father’s birthday.
At the market, I walked between stalls.
The sellers recognized imdiately, greeting cheerfully. I picked yams, vegetables, spices, fresh chicken and everything else I would need.
Back at ho, the whole place felt alive.
My mother was in the kitchen arranging spices.
Marco was arguing with the blender, threatening to throw it out of the window. I didn’t even try not to laugh.
"Marco, leave the blender alone," I said, stepping inside.
He narrowed his eyes at . "Where have you been? You didn’t sleep here last night."
"Relax," I replied, rolling my eyes. "I went to help Bianca."
He paused, staring at "Are you okay?"
My chest tightened, but I smiled. "I’m okay."
Without another word, he clicked his tongue and muttered, "Good. Now help before I burn this house down."
The house soon filled with music - old songs, the ones my mother loved, the ones that made my father dance even when he pretended to be serious.
We moved around each other, cooking, chopping, frying, washing, bumping hips playfully.
My wolf purred quietly. I had never realized how much she missed this.
At one point, Marco grabbed my waist and spun around dramatically. "Dance, woman!"
I scread and slapped his shoulder while everyone laughed. "Marco! Put down!"
But even as I laughed, I felt tears at the back of my eyes.
I had spent so many years serving the Stones. I was so lost in their cold mansion, disconnected from the people who actually loved . Today felt like a mory I didn’t know I needed.
When dinner was finally served, the entire table lit with joy. My father blessed the al, kissed my forehead, and said, "This is the best birthday dinner I’ve had in years, Sophia."
My heart swelled.
For the first ti in years... I was at ho.
Later that evening, I looked at my phone. I hesitated a bit. I hadn’t posted on my social dia since my marriage. Not once.
I opened the app.
My profile looked abandoned and forgotten.
I swallowed, then clicked on the cara roll and selected the photos from the birthday: my father holding his cake, my mother laughing with flour on her face, Marco pretending to look serious, Klara sticking her tongue out behind , Patricia pointing at the food spread and the candles glowing.
Without overthinking, I posted them.
Caption: "At ho with people I love. Happy birthday, Dad."
As soon as it uploaded, I let out a deep breath.
Sothing inside shifted. It was sothing small, quiet, but powerful.
This was the start of my new life.
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