Sofia stumbled backward, her heel catching on the edge of the rug. She crashed against the nightstand, knocking over the bedside lamp. The ceramic base shattered on the floor, sending a burst of sharp fragments skittering across the room. She collapsed to the ground, her breath a series of shallow, erratic gasps. Her hands shook violently, as if she'd just witnessed something pulled straight out of a nightmare.
The commotion brought Jay rushing in, expecting anything but this—Sofia on the floor, eyes wide with horror, retreating from the bed like it housed a ghost.
And Sara...Sara, blinking groggily, had stirred at the noise. She sat up slowly, pushing off the blanket with effort, her limbs still weak. Confused eyes scanned the room until they met Sofia's—and held.
Jay crouched beside Sofia, gripping her arms with concern. "Miss Sofia! Are you alright?"
Her fingers dug into his sleeves, clinging as though he were the only thing keeping her from falling into some abyss. She swallowed hard, trying to moisten her parched throat, but the panic still gripped her chest like a vice.
From the bed, Sara's voice rose, hoarse with sleep and laced with irritation. "What's going on? Why am I—what happened?" Her eyes darted between them, landing again on Sofia, who hadn't moved an inch, still staring as if seeing a phantom from her past.
Sara hesitated, then stood from the bed on wobbly feet, concern now overtaking confusion. "Are you okay?" she asked, genuinely worried as she stepped closer.
Jay hadn't noticed it yet—the faint blood glistening on Sofia's palms from where the glass shards had embedded themselves. But Sara did. She saw it instantly.
"Wait—you're bleeding," she whispered, her gaze dropping to Sofia's trembling hands.
Sara reached out, instinctively trying to examine the injury, but Sofia flinched and pulled away. Their eyes locked again—Sofia's wild with disbelief, Sara's soft with concern.
"Give me your hand. You're hurt," Sara said gently, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a beat, neither woman moved. Then, despite herself, Sofia's hand slipped into Sara's. Blood had started to drip, staining her wrist and pooling at the base of her thumb. She clenched her teeth, suppressing a cry.
"I'll get a doctor," Jay said, rising.
"There's no need," Sofia snapped. She tried to yank her hand free again, but Sara tightened her grip, not allowing her to escape.
"Stop. Sit down," Sara ordered, her tone suddenly sharper, unexpectedly authoritative. "Jay—could you get a first aid kit, please?"
Jay paused, visibly surprised by the change in Sara's tone. It wasn't just polite—it was commanding, calm, and utterly unshakable. Even Sofia seemed stunned by it.
"…Right away," Jay replied, then turned and left the room.
Sofia tried again to rise, but her knees buckled, Sara caught her, Holding her gently to sit on the edge of the bed. Her touch wasn't forceful, but there was something grounding in it—familiar. Sofia didn't fight her this time.
Her eyes, however, never left Sara.
She looked at her like she was watching a ghost take form—one she couldn't decide whether to run from or reach out to. Her her gaze shimmered, One tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek, slowly, as if uncertain it had permission to fall.
Sara sat beside her, grabbed a tissue from the bedside stand, and began dabbing softly at the blood. "There's a little glass in here. I'll take it out, but… it'll sting."
Sofia still said nothing. She just watched. The look was of--one could say longing of a sort, Watched Sara's hands—steady, careful, She didn't pull away.
When Jay returned, Sofia quickly wiped her cheek, pretending as though nothing had happened. Jay either didn't notice or respectfully pretended not to.
"Here," he said, handing the first aid kit to Sara.
"Thanks," she murmured, flipping it open and pulling out antiseptic, gauze, and a pair of fine tweezers. She glanced up. "Hold onto my arm if it hurts, okay?"
Sofia nodded mutely, already holding on.
Sara worked quietly, her brow furrowed in concentration, while Sofia looked at her as if trying to memorize every line of her face—
"Here we go," Sara murmured, pressing the last strip of gauze into Sofia's palm. Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, and then, with a flicker of hesitation, she turned her face toward Sofia, catching her gaze.
Something in that look stopped her breath, Her eyelashes fluttered, her clear eyes bright and clear. Sofia gulped in a little hard.
Sofia's eyes weren't cold. They weren't grateful either. They were… confused. Clouded. As if at war —between a part of her that wanted Sara out of sight, and another, more dangerous part, that wanted her within reach. It was the kind of expression you might catch in a fleeting dream. Or a moment you're not supposed to see. Sara's brow lifted in question but she said nothing. She had never seen anyone look at her like that before. Not like this. She wasn't sure what to make of it. So she pulled her hand away slowly, gently, and offered a faint smile.
"I'm sorry if I came off rude before," she said, voice soft but steady. "I just don't like seeing blood. Especially when it's outside the body."
She laughed—awkwardly, rubbing her nape, Sofia, as if shaken from a trance, shifted away and sat more upright, distancing herself, but still too still.
Sara cleared her throat and tried again.
"So," she said with a touch of cheer, "I should introduce myself. I'm Sara Parker. Swimming instructor."
She extended her hand with a firm gesture casual—but her eyes quietly searched Sofia's face, unsure if she would even accept.
Sofia looked at the outstretched hand for a long beat. Then at Sara. And then back at the hand, as if trying to decide whether she should take it or not. Jay, watching quietly from the edge of the room, tilted his head slightly, puzzled by Sofia's hesitation. She wasn't the type to waste time with pleasantries, and she certainly wasn't known to sit in rooms like this—barefooted in silence, breathing beside strangers.
At last, Sofia reached out. Not with the hand Sara had treated—but the other.
"I'm Sofia Core," she said, her voice measured but hushed. Then, after a slight pause—"Blue's… mother."
The pause wasn't long. But it was long enough to be noticed.
Sara's eyes widened with honest surprise. "Oh! You're her mother?" Her voice lit up. "Gosh—you're stunning. No wonder Blue's such a little heartbreaker. She really did get it from you."
It was sincere. Admiring. But then—Sara hesitated. The brightness on her face faltered, and something faintly shadowed passed over her.
"But…" she added, frowning slightly, her words rolling out unfiltered, "I feel sorry for you. Having to live with a man like that." she was referring to Augustine.
Sofia's expression didn't change, neither she looked away, but Jay stiffened behind her, stunned at the bluntness. Even Sara seemed to realize her misstep the second it hit the air.
Her eyes went wide, and her hand flew up instinctively to her mouth. "Oh my God—I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. I really— That was completely out of line."
The silence that followed was heavy. Jay expected Sofia to recoil, to slap her hand away, to say something scathing or cutting. But she didn't.
She just watched her as if taking her in as she was. Too openly. Her face unreadable, her breath shallow, her fingers still wrapped around Sara's, the handshake not breaking away. And when she finally did speak, it came out low. Quiet. Unapologetically honest.
"Thank you," she said. "For being the first person to ever say that out loud."
Something in her tone made Sara pause.
Jay, standing awkwardly to the side, blinked slowly. At this point, he wasn't sure what surprised him more: that Sara had survived Sofia's silence—or that Sofia had, somehow, softened in its wake.