A gentle knock echoed against the guest room door, followed by the creak of hinges as Wamary, ever the careful hostess, slowly pushed it open. The soft glow of the bedside lamp revealed Asta curled up on the bed, his wide eyes glued to an animated episode of "PAW Patrol" playing on a tablet nestled against his knees. The vivid colors of the cartoon dancrd across his face, lighting up his quiet giggles.
Wamary stepped inside, her slippers brushing softly against the polished floor. From the bathroom, the faint rush of water cascaded steadily-she paused, head tilted slightly ,then nodded to herself. Sophie must be taking a shower, she concluded.
Clearing her throat gently, Wamary called out, "Madam Sophie, when you're done freshening up, please come downstairs. Dinner is ready. I'll be taking the young one with me so he can eat while it's still warm."
The sound of water faltered briefly, followed by Sophie's voice echoing faintly from the tiled room. "Alright, thank you. I'll be down in a moment."
Wamary gave a satisfied smile, turned toward Asta and extended her hand. "Come, little one. Let's go fill that belly."
Asta paused his cartoon with a slight pout but obediently hopped off the bed, slipping his tiny hand into hers. Together, they disappeared through the softly closing door, the warmth of home-cooked food awaiting them downstairs.
Steam still clung to Sophie's skin as she stepped out of the bathroom, her fingers towel-drying her hair as she crossed the room in a soft robe. Her eyes swept casually across the bed-and paused.
A bag.
It hadn't been there earlier.
She furrowed her brow, momentarily puzzled. The modest duffel sat neatly at the foot of the bed, unassuming yet clearly out of place. Curiosity stirred within her. She padded closer, her fingers reaching for the zipper with hesitant grace. Wamary must have placed it here while I was in the shower, she mused silently.
Unzipping it slowly, Sophie's breath hitched as the contents came into view.
Folded with care were a few clean sets of clothes-soft, elegant nightwear for a woman, a couple of casual dresses, and beside them, neatly arranged child-sized garments. Pajama's printed with stars and clouds. A cotton shirt. A pair of tiny socks.
She traced her hand over the fabric, her chest tightening with a strange blend of appreciation and unease. There was no note. No announcement. Just thoughtful provision.
She glanced toward the closed door.
Annette must have arranged this, she concluded, and not without effort, brushed away the sharp edged of emotion that tried to rise in her throat. It felt like kindness-but also a quiet reminder of something unspoken, something maternal... and unignorable.
She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the scent of lavender clinging to the fresh cotton as she let her thoughts settle into the silence of the room.
Annette sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, idly swirling the soup in her bowl, her mind elsewhere-until the soft pad of footsteps against the polished wooden floor drew her attention.
She looked up-and froze.
Sophie had arrived.
Her hair, long and obsidian black, was brushed to a soft sheen, cascading over her shoulders like liquid silk. She wore a flowing white dress-simple at a glance, but undeniably striking. The fabric hugged her bodice gently, accentuating the subtle curves of her waist before blooming into an elegant flare that grazed the floor with every step she took. A delicate slit ran along one side, just enough to suggest rather than show, swaying with her movements like whispered temptation. The dress didn't scream for attention-it commanded it.
Annette's eyes flickered-was it surprise? Irritation? She masked it quickly, lifting her glass of water to sip.
Wamary, who had just emerged from the kitchen with a basket of freshy baked bread, stood rooted at the threshold, blinking. "Eheh...my dear," "you clean up like a movie star."
Before Sophie could reply, a small voice cut through the room like a warm blade.
"Mummy...you're very beautiful." Asta, already seated in his high chair, blinked wide-eyed at her, admiration plain on his face.
The compliment hung in the air like a scented ribbon.
Sophie glanced down at her son and smiled softly, cheeks flushing as she walked toward the table, her hand brushing over his tiny curls. "Thank you, sweetheart."
Annette set her glass down gently, the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betraying her thoughts. She straightened her posture.
"Well," she said, her voice even, "seems dinner just got a little more interesting."
Sophie drew out the carved chair beside Asta and settled gracefully into her seat, her dress folding elegantly around her like a quiet whisper. She offered a polite nod toward Annette, who remained seated at the head of the table, unreadable.
The table was warm with the rich aroma of seasoned meats, slow-cooked vegetables, and spiced gravies. A golden glow from the chandelier bathed the dining room, adding an almost theatrical softness to the tension in the air.
With deliberate calm, Sophie reached forward toward the silver platter of braised beef, her fingers steady as she speared a glistening slice with her fork.
At the same time, Annette's hand moved in a mirrored instinct, her fork sliding in from the opposite side-only for the two utensils to clash with an unmistakable clink against the same piece of meat.
Both women froze.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met-Sophie's cool, Annette's guarded.
Then, Sophie gave a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She gently withdrew her fork. "Please," she murmured, her voice as smooth as porcelain, "you go ahead."
Annette blinked, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly. "No," she said evenly, her tone clipped but civil. "I insist. You reached first."
They remained suspended in that moment, the offer hanging delicately between them like glass.
Sophie gave a small shrug, then reached out again and selected a different slice, laying it neatly on her plate without another world.
Wamary, returning with a jug of fresh juice, sensed the friction in the air but said nothing. She simply set the jug down with practiced grace, her eyes flicking briefly between the two women, then to Asta-who was too busy playing with his spoon to notice the quiet war being waged just beyond his reach.
Annette reached over with a gentle hand, her silver spoon hovering over the bowl of sauteed vegetables. She carefully scooped a colorful medley onto Asta's plate-green beans, soft potatoes, and a few tender slices of carrots, their orange hue vibrant beneath the warm dining light.
"Here you go, sweetheart," she murmured, her tone soft with affection as she nudged the plate toward Asta.
But the little boy's smile faded.
His brows furrowed, and he stared at the plate with a confused, almost troubled look. His small fingers clutched the edge of the table, unsure.
Before Annette could register the shift in his expression, Sophie leaned in subtly, her eyes narrowing on the vegetables. Without a word, she picked up Asta's spoon and began gently separating the carrots from the rest of the food.
Annette watched, caught in a brief, breathless moment of suspense.
Sophie finally spoke, her voice low but firm. "He's allergic to carrots."
The words cut through the room like a hush, startling in their quiet certainty.
Annette's gaze dropped instantly to the table. Her hands withdrew, and a flush rose to her cheeks. "Oh," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know..."
She forced a small, strained smile. "Luckily...you know him best."
Sophie didn't reply, but there was a flicker in her eyes-an emotion hard to place between protectiveness and something colder. She passed Asta the plate again, now free of the offending vegetables.
Asta dug in cheerfully, unaware of the tension that lingered like invisible fog around the table. Annette sat back quietly, her appetite fading as fast as her confidence.
Annette sat still, the soft clinking of cutlery and murmurs of conversation around her melting into a dull hum. Her hand rested lightly on the edge of her untouched plate, but her mind was far from the present.
Allergic to carrots.
The phrase kept looping in her head like a soft but persistent echo. How simple. How obvious. And yet- how had she not known?
Her eyes fell on Asta, now happily chewing his food, chattering softly between mouthfuls to Sophie. There was no bitterness in his tiny voice, no hesitation. Just the comfort of familiarity, of someone who knew what made him giggle, what scared him in cartoons, and what he could or couldn't eat.
A pang of something sharp and deeply buried tugged at her chest.
Was she a stranger to her own son?
No, her mind rebelled. You carried him. You loved him before he even had a name.
But the ache didn't ease. Biology didn't teach you how to hold a spoon just right when he refused to eat. It didn't help you recognize the subtle way he rubbed his nose when he was tired, or the sound of his breathing when a fever was coming.
Sophie did. Sophie knew.
Annette looked down at her lap, her fingers curling into a soft fist.
She hadn't chosen to walk away. Life had made the choices for her-harsh, unyielding choices. But would Asta ever understand that? Or would he only see her as the woman who arrived late, who didn't know about the carrots?
A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she glanced up again-at Sophie, glowing in white, seated beside Asta like she belonged. Annette's own reflection flickered faintly in the polished surface of a wine glass across the table. Dim. A little blurred.
"I'm still his mother," she whispered inwardly. "But maybe...not the only one."
Annette's gaze lingered on her plate, her thoughts still tangled in silent storms when Sophie's voice gently sliced through the quiet.
"Thank you...for the clothes," Sophie murmured, her tone soft, almost hesitant. "I didn't have any spares with me-only the ones we were wearing. And Asta...I only managed to pack a few things for him. I forgot to ask Kinuthia to bring more."
Annette blinked, her lashes heavy with unspoken emotion. She didn't look up right away. Her fork shifted idly against her plate as though buying her time.
"It's my duty," she finally said, her voice low but composed. "To take care of both of you."
There words hung in the air like something sacred-neither a kindness offered nor a favor owed, but a truth carved from quiet resolve.
Sophie glanced at her, brows subtly lifted in surprise. The flicker in her eyes was unreadable-perhaps gratitude , perhaps wariness. For a moment, the clinking of cutlery ceased again, and only Asta's cheerful hums as he played with his cup broke the silence.
Annette lifted her eyes briefly, meeting Sophie's across the rim of a crystal glass. No rivalry. No claim. Just something complicated. Human.