Westridge Academy – After School
If there was one person Sophia Carter regretted hurting the most in her past life, it was the woman sitting in front of her now.
Her mother—Eleanor Carter.
Eleanor had grown up in a family that valued sons over daughters. She dropped out of high school at sixteen, moved south for work, and fell for a charming but unreliable man. By nineteen, she was pregnant.
She broke things off immediately.
But when the time came to sign the abortion papers, Eleanor hesitated—then ran.
Sophia knew little about those early years.
Her childhood memories were filled with silk dresses, private tutors, and the scent of her mother's perfume. Eleanor had clawed her way from a market stall assistant to a self-made businesswoman—all while raising a daughter alone.
She never went to college herself, but she was obsessed with Sophia's education.
"The best schools," she'd say, "no matter the cost."
Yet teenage Sophia had been too busy chasing boys—Lucas Grant, specifically—to care. She fought with Eleanor constantly, screaming "I don't need you!" and throwing back the same cruel words her grandmother had once used.
Then came the scandal.
A factory collapse. Dozens injured. Eleanor, framed for cutting corners, was sentenced to prison.
And Sophia?
She spent those months crying over Lucas canceling their engagement—barely glancing at her mother during prison visits.
She never asked if Eleanor was being bullied inside.
Never noticed how thin she'd become.
Three years after Alexander's death, a call came:
"Your mother passed away in her sleep."
When Sophia returned to pack Eleanor's things, she found every childhood dress neatly folded. Every school photo labeled in her mother's messy scrawl:
"Sophia's first tooth—she wouldn't stop wiggling it!"
"Two-dollar necklace from the closing toy store. My girl wears it like a crown."
"Cried because she 'got too chubby' for her recital dress. Silly girl. You're the most beautiful."
Sophia had stood there, clutching the album, and whispered, "Mom?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
The Car Ride Home
Now, in the backseat of the Bentley, Sophia clung to Eleanor like a lifeline.
The car's AC hummed softly.
Eleanor stiffened—then sighed, patting her daughter's hair. "Was the breakup that bad?"
Sophia shook her head, burying her face in her mother's shoulder. The familiar scents—laundry detergent, floral cream, the medicinal patch stuck to Eleanor's neck—flooded her with warmth.
This was her mother's smell.
Eleanor snorted. "You hated my cooking two days ago."
"I lied," Sophia mumbled. "I love your food."
Eleanor's lips twitched. "Flattery won't get you out of cello practice."
The Boy on the Sidewalk
At a red light, Sophia spotted him.
Alexander Sterling.
He knelt on the hot pavement, tying a little girl's shoelaces. Sunlight dappled his back through the trees, highlighting the scars on his forearms—jagged, poorly stitched.
One ran from elbow to wrist.
Sophia's chest tightened.
She knew he'd had a hard life.
But seeing proof of it so young was different.
The light changed. The car moved on.
Dinner at Home
Eleanor, unused to her daughter's sudden clinginess, cooked a simple meal:
Sugar-dusted tomatoes.
Pan-fried spam.
Instant noodles with greens and eggs.
Sophia devoured it like it was gourmet.
Eleanor watched, stunned. "You're not… dieting anymore?"
"Nope." Sophia grinned, slurping noodles. "I'm done starving myself."
Eleanor's phone buzzed—another work crisis. She kissed Sophia's forehead. "Be good. Your uncle's picking you up after cello."
Sophia's smile faded.
Uncle.
Daniel Carter.
Eleanor's younger brother—the golden son their grandmother had spoiled rotten.
In her past life, Daniel had weaseled his way into their lives, playing the doting uncle while secretly embezzling funds.
Then came the factory collapse.
The deaths.
The forged documents framing Eleanor.
And Daniel?
He fled the country with millions.
Sophia's fingers curled around her fork.
Not this time.
Cello Practice
The music academy's halls smelled of aged wood and rosin.
Sophia played for hours—long after her classmates had left.
When she finally packed up, Daniel was waiting outside, leaning against his car with a smirk.
"Long practice, princess."
He handed her a sweating boba tea. "Your favorite. Extra sugar."
Sophia didn't take it. "I'm cutting back."
Daniel's smile faltered. "Since when?"
"Since now."
She climbed into the backseat, ignoring his confused stare.
The drive home was silent.
Daniel kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror, fingers tapping the wheel.
"You okay, kid? You're acting… weird."
Sophia met his eyes. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"How much I'd hate it," she said softly, "if someone betrayed my mom."
Daniel's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
The First Move
That night, Sophia lay awake, replaying the day.
Alexander's scars.
Eleanor's tired smile.
Daniel's nervous sweat.
She had so much to fix.
So little time.
But for the first time in years, she felt—
Hopeful.