Page 43 of Forsaken Promises
I pull out my phone, opening up the group chat with my sisters. My fingers fly over the screen as I type out a message, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
“Hey ladies, I'm coming home for a visit. I’ll see you in a few!”
I hitSend, leaning back against the plush leather seat as I wait for their responses. I can already picture their reactions—Mia’s excited squeals, Chiara’s warm smile, Bianca’s playful teasing.
But to my surprise, only one notification pops up on my screen. It’s from Bianca, and the message is short and clipped.
“Ok.”
I stare at the screen, my brow furrowing in confusion. That’s it? Just “ok”? No excited emojis, no questions about when I’ll be arriving or how long I’ll be staying?
It’s not like Bianca to be so terse, especially not with me. She’s usually the one who's always up for a good gossip session, always eager to hear about my life and share her own stories in return.
And then there’s the fact that she's the only one who responded at all. Mia is practically glued to her phone, always sending rapid-fire texts and memes and TikTok videos. For her to be silent, especially when I’m coming home for a visit… it’s more than a little strange.
I try to push down the unease that's building in my gut, telling myself that there’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe Bianca is just grumpy that I woke her up early. Maybe Mia and Chiara are still sleeping, their phones on silent mode as they catch up on some much-needed rest.
Yes, that must be it. I’m probably just overthinking things, letting my own anxieties and fears color my perception. My sisters love me, and they’ll be thrilled to see me no matter what.
I take a deep breath, letting the car’s leather upholstery scent wash over me. It’s a small comfort, a reminder of the life I’ve always known, the world I’ve grown up in.
But even as I try to relax, try to let myself be soothed by the gentle motion of the car and the soft strains of music playing over the speakers… I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That there's more going on than meets the eye.
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat as I try to quiet my racing thoughts. I need to focus on the present, on the moment at hand.
* * *
As I stepthrough the front door of my childhood home, a sense of unease washes over me. The house is too quiet, the air heavy with a stillness that feels almost oppressive. It’s a far cry from the warmth and chaos I’m used to, the constant buzz of activity and laughter that always filled these halls.
The butler greets me at the door, his face drawn and his eyes shadowed with worry. “Welcome home, Miss Sofia,” he says, his voice low and somber. “It’s good to see you.”
I try to smile, but it feels forced, almost painful. “It's good to be back, Marco,” I say, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. “Where is everyone? Where's my father?”
Marco hesitates, his gaze darting away from mine. “He’s in his room, Miss Sofia,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your mother is with him.”
A cold knot of dread settles in the pit of my stomach, a sickening sense of fear that I can’t quite shake. I nod, mumbling a quick thank you to Marco before I’m racing up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest as I make my way toward my parents’ bedroom.
I burst through the door, my breath catching in my throat as I take in the scene before me. My father is lying in bed, his face pale and drawn, his body looking frail beneath the sheets. My mother is sitting by his side, her hand clasped tightly in his, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying.
“Papa,” I whisper, my voice cracking on the word. “What… what happened?”
My mother looks up at me, her face a mask of grief and exhaustion. “Oh, Sofia,” she says, her voice trembling with emotion. “I'm so glad you're here.”
I move to my father’s bedside, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress as I take his hand in mine. It feels so thin, so fragile, like it might break at the slightest touch.
“His health has taken a turn for the worse,” my mother says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I feel like I've been punched in the gut, the air rushing out of my lungs in a painful whoosh. This can’t be happening. Not now, not when I need my father more than ever.
“But… but he was fine at the wedding,” I say, my voice shaking with disbelief. “He was walking and talking and… and he seemed so strong.”
My mother shakes her head, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “He was putting on a brave face for you, Sofia,” she says, her voice thick with tears. “He didn't want you to worry, didn't want to spoil your special day.”
I feel a wave of guilt wash over me, a sickening sense of regret that I didn't see it sooner. I was too caught up in my own drama, my own petty problems, to notice that my father was slipping away right before my eyes.
“Papa,” I whisper, leaning in close to his face. “Papa, I'm here. I'm right here.”
His eyelids flutter, his gaze focusing on me with a clarity that takes my breath away. “Sofia,” he rasps, his voice weak and thready. “My beautiful girl.”
