Sofia's POV.
Tonight was the dinner.
Tonight, I would confront the origin of my pain.
I stood before the mirror, inhaled deeply, and lifted my chin.
Whatever awaited me at that table — I would face it.
Not as the abandoned child.
But as Sofia Gabrielle Parker.
Chosen.
Forgiven.
Unbreakable.
And I walked toward the door with my head held high.
Third Person's POV
Sofia had imagined this dinner a thousand different ways.
In some versions, her mother ran to her.
In others, her father apologized.
In most of them, there were tears — but healing tears.
Now, as the car pulled into the long driveway of her parents' mansion, her hands trembled slightly in her lap.
Would they regret abandoning her?
Would they welcome her with love?
Or would this be another rejection?
Her brothers had embraced her. That reunion had been messy but sincere.
But her parents were different.
Parents were the wound.
Antonio had insisted on coming inside with her.
"I can stand beside you," he had said quietly.
But she shook her head.
"This is my family. I have to walk this path on my own."
He studied her for a long moment before nodding.
"Message me if anything feels wrong."
He drove her personally and parked in front of the mansion.
"I'll wait," he said.
"You don't have to," she insisted. "You have a meeting."
"I'll do it over Zoom."
His tone left no room for argument.
That alone steadied her.
--.....
The house looked exactly as she remembered.
Grand. Polished. Immaculate.
Family portraits lined the hallway — her parents, her brothers at different ages.
A large portrait dominated the living room: a perfect family smiling for the camera.
There was no trace of her existence.
Not even a shadow.
Of course there wasn't.
She had been erased.
Her mother sat elegantly on the sofa, gray now threading through her once jet-black curls. She wore a deep violet dress, regal and composed.
Her father sat beside her in a tailored African suit, silent and rigid.
Sofia inhaled slowly.
Her mother looked up.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, Sofia allowed herself hope.
Then—
"What the hell is that thing doing in my house?"
The words hit like a slap.
Venom. Rage. No hesitation.
Sofia blinked.
She had prepared for coldness.
Not hatred.
"Mom…" Stanzas stepped forward quickly. "Aren't you happy we're reunited with our sister?"
"Happy?" Her mother laughed bitterly. "Did I go looking for her?"
Ethan's jaw tightened. "She's your daughter."
"She is not my daughter!" her mother snapped. "That disgusting creature nearly destroyed my marriage. Do you know what people said? Do you know what this did to our reputation?"
Her voice rose with each word.
"To our business?"
Her father remained silent.
He did not defend Sofia.
He did not defend his wife.
He simply looked down at his hands.
Sofia felt something inside her grow very still.
"Regret?" her mother scoffed when Ethan asked the question. "I would abandon that thing a thousand times over."
Silence followed.
Sofia had imagined crying.
Begging.
Breaking.
Instead, she felt… numb.
Years of rejection had built a shield she didn't know she possessed.
She stepped forward slowly.
"I prayed for you," she said calmly.
Her voice did not shake.
"For years."
Her mother scoffed again, but Sofia continued.
"I hoped you had changed. I hoped one day you would regret what you did."
She paused.
"But it seems some people never grow."
Her brothers watched her carefully.
"I thank God I was born this way," she continued softly. "Because if I had been 'perfect,' perhaps you would have used me to climb higher in society. To secure another business deal through marriage."
Her mother stiffened.
"You are not a mother," Sofia said gently. "You are a woman who gave birth. A true mother loves her child regardless of appearance or disability."
Her father's face tightened.
Still, he said nothing.
"I have forgiven you," she said.
And that was the truth.
Not because they deserved it.
But because she deserved peace.
"I ask God to have mercy on both of you."
Her mother stood abruptly.
"Get out!"
Sofia nodded once.
"Gladly."
She walked out with her head high.
Not rushing.
Not crying.
Not collapsing.
---
Antonio was already stepping out of the car before she reached him.
He opened his arms.
She stepped into them.
He bent slightly to her height and wrapped himself around her carefully, as if holding something fragile but precious.
He did not ask questions.
He did not demand details.
He simply whispered, "You're safe."
And that broke her more than the insults had.
---
That Night
He took her home.
Helped her change into something comfortable.
It was their first time sharing a bed.
He held her through the night — not possessively, not passionately.
Protectively.
His arm remained around her waist.
Each time she stirred, he tightened his hold slightly.
And for the first time in years, Sofia slept without dreaming of abandonment.
---
Days Later – Meeting Antoinette
Days passed.
Antonio mentioned his sister, Antoinette, would be visiting from the United States.
"It's been a while since I've seen her," he said.
He wanted Sofia to meet her.
He had already met her brothers after the reconciliation.
It felt fair.
Sofia asked her maid, Fatu, to prepare a thoughtful gift for Miss Haywood.
She wanted to start well.
---
The Dinner
Antoinette arrived.
She did not resemble Antonio much. Her ebony skin glowed under the chandelier lights. Her thick afro was styled into an elegant bun. Her hazel eyes were striking — sharp, observant.
Antonio wore casual jeans and a fitted T-shirt.
Sofia wore a colorful dress that flattered her frame.
At the table, Sofia handed Antoinette the gift.
"For you," she said warmly.
Antoinette barely glanced at it.
Throughout dinner, she made subtle remarks.
Little jabs.
Small insults disguised as jokes.
Antonio wasn't always close enough to hear them.
Sofia chose silence.
She refused to create tension.
---
"Antoinette," Antonio said casually, lifting his glass, "I want you to meet someone very dear to me. This is Sofia Gabrielle Parker — my girlfriend."
Antoinette stared at Sofia.
Then laughed.
"This thing?" she said coldly. "You must be joking."
Sofia felt the sting.
But she didn't move.
"Are you so heartbroken over Beatrice that you've decided to settle for any walking creature?" Antoinette continued. "I'm sorry, Antonio, but I cannot accept this… ridiculous situation."
The room fell silent.
Sofia's fingers tightened around her fork.
She could have responded.
She had words sharp enough to wound.
But she remained still.
Not weak.
Measured.
She wanted to see something.
She wanted to see him.
"What did you just say?" Antonio's voice changed.
Low.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
Even Sofia felt a chill.
"I will not sit here and let you insult the woman I love," he said evenly.
Antoinette's smirk faded.
"You judge someone based on a disability? Have you forgotten our own mother was deaf?"
The reminder struck.
"You dare mention Beatrice," he continued, "knowing what she did? Knowing what that cost me?"
His jaw tightened.
"If you cannot respect Sofia, you cannot remain in my life."
Antoinette stared at him, shocked.
"You are my sister," he said firmly. "But I will not associate with cruelty. Not again."
The word again carried weight.
"Leave," he said.
"And do not contact me until you understand the damage your words cause."
Antoinette stood, furious but speechless.
She stormed out.
The door closed heavily behind her.
---
Sofia looked at Antonio.
He was breathing slowly, deliberately.
Control.
Always control.
But his eyes were protective.
Not ashamed.
Not hesitant.
He chose her publicly.
Without hesitation.
Without calculation.
That mattered.
---
Author's Note
I learned from Sofia's parents that some people don't deserve redemption.
Some mothers care about their social standing more than what their children or child feels.
Some mothers care about their spouse's emotions more than their kids. Don't get me wrong a woman should respect her husband and honor him - but I believe that there should be a balance and a mother should never have to choose between her husband and her kids.
As for Antonio's sister she's really mean. She's a perfect example to me of people who can't remember 'the road that led them home.'
A person should always remember where they came from and who made them.
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Xoxo
Bella Angel Douglas