The room still carried that faint scent of faded lavender and stubborn dust that no cleaning could fully erase. It clung to the heavy drapes and the old furniture like an unwelcome memory. Koharu pushed the door open, the familiar creak cutting through the quiet morning air. Sofia was already awake, lying still in bed and staring up at that thin crack in the ceiling as if it might open up and finally swallow her.
Koharu's chest tightened. It had been like this every day for two weeks. The quiet crying through the door at night. The way Sofia barely ate. The complete emptiness that had settled in after she learned the truth about Vincenzo and how the precinct had been destroyed while he remained free.
"Young miss," Koharu said softly, keeping her voice warm. "Let me help you up."
Sofia didn't answer. Her eyes were swollen, the skin beneath them dark with exhaustion. Koharu had heard those muffled sounds again last night—the kind that came from someone trying not to take up any space at all.
She slid her arm behind Sofia's thin back, feeling the sharp bones beneath her fingers. The move to the wheelchair was slow and careful. Koharu smoothed the blanket over her legs, brushing away every wrinkle before straightening up. She wanted to say more, but nothing felt right.
The hallway outside hummed with careful movement. Footsteps paused and changed direction when the wheelchair appeared. As they passed the linen closet, two younger maids glanced over, then quickly looked away and focused on folding the same sheet again and again.
Koharu kept pushing forward, jaw tight. At least the open cruelty had stopped after Sir Antonello's warning. No more loud whispers or deliberate shoves. Now it was just avoidance—like everyone had decided Sofia was something better left unseen.
She remembered that evening clearly. The master had gathered the senior staff, his face hard. "Sofia is my daughter. Treat her with the respect her position demands. No exceptions." That was all. No explanation. But the message had landed. The house had shifted from active harm to cold distance. Koharu understood why. Sofia had become inconvenient.
They reached the top of the grand staircase. Sunlight spilled into the hall below, bright and golden. Koharu took the steps one at a time, arms burning from the effort. She refused to hurry.
Halfway down, Mrs. Vale appeared at the bottom, waiting.
Koharu's stomach twisted. She tried to steer around her, but the head maid stepped forward, climbing a few steps to block their path.
"Young miss!" Mrs. Vale called, voice dripping with sweetness. "There you are. You should have rung for assistance earlier. We could have made everything more comfortable."
Sofia stared down at her lap. No response.
Mrs. Vale's smile tightened. She leaned in, voice dropping but still loud enough for others to hear. "Ignoring people who only want to help… that's not very gracious, is it? After everything this family has done."
Koharu felt heat rise in her neck. "Mrs. Vale," she started quietly, "we really have to—"
"Stay in your place, Koharu," the head maid snapped. "Some of us have served this family for decades. We know how things should be."
Koharu lowered her eyes, jaw clenched hard. She wanted to speak up, but she couldn't risk losing her position. Sofia needed at least one person who wouldn't turn away.
Heavy footsteps came from above. Madam Martha descended with Emily beside her, the pair moving as if they had simply happened to arrive at the same moment. Emily's face was arranged in soft concern. She hurried forward, heading straight for Mrs. Vale instead of her sister.
"Aunt Vale, what's wrong?" Emily asked gently, touching the older woman's arm. "You seem troubled."
Mrs. Vale's shoulders trembled. Her voice cracked at the perfect moment. "It's nothing, Miss Emily. I only greeted the young miss, but… perhaps I've offended her. I try so hard for this family."
Emily turned her worried gaze toward Sofia. "Sofia? Did something happen?"
The silence stretched. Servants slowed their steps throughout the hall, pretending to adjust flowers or polish already shining railings while listening closely.
Martha's voice cut through, sharp with irritation. "What is this behavior? Ignoring people in your own home?"
Sofia remained still, but Koharu saw the faint tremble in her fingers beneath the blanket.
"Young miss didn't do anything. It was my fault"
"No, Aunt Vale, don't blame yourself," Emily said warmly, pulling the head maid into a gentle hug. "You've cared for this house so faithfully for years. Please don't cry."
The comforting words continued, each one painting Mrs. Vale as the victim. Emily looked genuinely hurt as she glanced at her mother, eyes glistening. Martha's face darkened with growing anger. From where she stood, Sofia was causing problems again—upsetting the household, hurting Emily who had done nothing wrong.
The slap came suddenly.
The sharp crack rang out across the hall. Sofia's head jerked to the side, a vivid red mark blooming on her pale cheek. Koharu flinched, her own face stinging in sympathy.
For several long seconds, the only sound was breathing.
Sofia slowly turned her head back. Her eyes held no anger, no outburst—just a deep, hollow emptiness.
"Why do you always target your sister?" Martha demanded, voice thick with frustration.
"I understand," Sofia whispered.
Martha frowned. "What did you say?"
Sofia's fingers tightened slightly on the blanket. She drew a small breath. "I understand what I am here for. You don't need to explain it again."
Koharu's throat tightened. She wished she could wheel Sofia away immediately.
Sofia kept her gaze on her mother, voice quiet and steady despite the faint tremor in her hands. "When I came back at fourteen, the house was already full. There was already a daughter who knew every corner, every rule, every way to make people smile." She paused, looking down for a moment before continuing. "I tried anyway. I learned how the silverware should be placed. I practiced calling you 'Mother' in the mirror until the word stopped sounding so strange. Even after the accident, I still kept trying."
Her voice wavered once, barely. "You never answered. Not the first time. Not the second. So I stopped."
Emily stepped closer, eyes soft and glistening. "Sofia, please… you're hurting everyone. I've only ever wanted you to feel welcome here. If I've done something to make you feel this way, I'm truly sorry—"
Sofia didn't look at her. Her hollow stare stayed on Martha. "I thought if I tried harder, stayed quieter, needed less… maybe there would be space for me. But every missing thing, every broken plate, every awkward silence—it was easier when it was my fault. Even when I wasn't in the room." Her fingers tightened again. "I understand now. There was never going to be space."
The hall felt smaller. Several servants had stopped pretending to work, watching openly from the edges.
Martha pulled Emily closer, stroking her hair with protective affection. "Look what you've done. Upsetting everyone with these twisted stories. Stop this nonsense immediately."
Sofia said nothing more. She simply sat there, empty-eyed and still.
Koharu couldn't bear it any longer. She turned the wheelchair and began guiding Sofia back up the stairs. The wheels sounded loud against the heavy silence. Behind them, soft voices rose again—comforting murmurs for Emily and Mrs. Vale.
As they reached the upper hallway, Koharu leaned down close. "I'm here, young miss. I'm still here."
Sofia didn't speak, but her fingers brushed Koharu's hand for the briefest moment. A light touch. Almost nothing. Yet Koharu felt it clearly.
She blinked back the burn in her eyes and kept pushing the wheelchair forward. Sofia remained silent the rest of the way, head slightly bowed, the red mark on her cheek slowly darkening.
Neither of them spoke again.
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