“You’ll shine brighter than any star,” her father whispered. “Your name will be in lights one day. They won’t be able to look away.”
Sophia clung to him, tears soaking the blanket that covered his fading frame. His hand, frail but still warm, drifted gently through her hair.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We don’t choose fate—but we can face it with courage. Now, just listen. Please.”
Sophia lifted her tear-stained face. Her father’s voice was faint, every word a labor.
“There were two of us once—Mikhail and me, Grigory. We were like brothers. Swore on blood our bond would never break. And then… your mother came into our lives. We both loved her. That kind of love… it doesn’t leave room for friendship. She chose me. And Mikhail—he couldn’t forgive that.”
He paused, the effort visible on his face.
“But he’s a good man. If you’re ever in trouble, go to him. He runs a restaurant now—the Breeze. Just remember that name. It might save you one day. There’s more, but if he chooses, he’ll tell you.”
His breathing grew shallow.
“Sophia… I love you. I believe in you. You’re going to be incredible.”
And then his hand slipped from hers. His body tensed—and went still.
“Dad! No, please, Dad!”
Her cries echoed through the room as nurses rushed in. But Sophia already knew—she was alone now. Completely, devastatingly alone.
The day after the funeral, when the mourners had all gone and the silence settled in, her stepmother turned cold eyes on her.
“Tomorrow, you’re finding a job,” she said flatly.
“But… I’m still studying,” Sophia protested.
The woman scoffed. “Studying? What’s that going to get you? A place in the streets? If you want food, you’d better earn it.”
“This is my home—my father’s home!”
“Your father is gone,” the woman snapped. “And I’m his legal wife. This house is mine now. So unless you want to be out on your ear tonight, keep that tone in check.”
Sophia ran to her room and cried into her father’s photo, holding it like a lifeline. But by morning, the tears were gone. She had made up her mind: she would finish her education, fulfill her father’s dream—and survive.
He always believed in her voice. She had won singing competitions since she was little. Her teachers told her even if fame never came, her voice could still earn her a living.
“You have something rare,” they said. “When people hear the name Sophia Grigorieva, they won’t forget it.”
She left for school without waking her stepmother. But when she returned, the woman was waiting on the porch with her suitcase.
“Did you find work?” she demanded.
“I went to class.”
The woman stepped in front of her. “Class? You want to be a singer?” She laughed bitterly. “You sound like rusted hinges. Look at you—no talent, no brains. You should be scrubbing floors, not dreaming of stages.”
She shoved the suitcase at her.
“Take your things and get out. Go sing on the street if you want. See who’ll pay for that noise.”
The door slammed behind her, the locks clicking. Sophia stood there in shock, then picked up her things and fled, whispering, “Please don’t see me like this, Dad…”
She wandered through the darkening streets, dragging her suitcase, nowhere to go. Her parents had been orphans—there were no relatives to call. Eventually, she stopped in front of a building with warm lights spilling onto the sidewalk: The Breeze.
Her father’s voice echoed in her mind.
She stepped inside.
A young man greeted her. “Good evening. Table for one?”
“I’m looking for Mikhail… Mikhail Yurievich.”
He studied her for a moment. “Wait here.”
Moments later, a tall man with graying hair and kind eyes stepped forward.
“Yes? You asked for me?”
“I… I’m Sophia. Daughter of Elena and Grigory Grigoryev. My father said I could come to you if I ever needed help.”
Mikhail’s expression shifted.
“Why… why couldn’t Grisha help his own daughter?”
“He passed away,” she said softly. “Just a few days ago.”
The color drained from his face.
He guided her gently to a seat, asked an assistant to bring water and take her things. When she was calm enough to speak, he listened to her entire story without interrupting.
When she finished, he nodded solemnly.
“Your father was like a brother to me. You have a place here, Sophia. Always.”
She hesitated.
“I’m not asking for much… I just need a chance to finish my studies. Maybe find work.”
He smiled gently. “I have a house in the city. You can stay with me if you’d like. Or I can book you a room nearby.”
“I… I’d feel safer with you,” she said quietly.
“Of course. I live with a spoiled cat who barely acknowledges me. You’ll fit right in.”
A few days later, Mikhail took her to the restaurant for dinner.
“I’ve never eaten in a real place like this,” she admitted.
“Well, it’s yours now too,” he smiled.
But as they sat down, an employee rushed over.
“Sir, we have a problem. The singer for the anniversary canceled. We’re out of time—and there’s a contract.”
Mikhail swore under his breath. “We’ll have to pay the penalty… and ruin our reputation.”
Sophia reached for his hand.
“Let me sing.”
He blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please trust me.”
And he did.
As her voice filled the room, a hush fell over the guests. Mikhail sat frozen, eyes glassy. During her final song, he whispered to himself:
“Elena… our daughter will be a star. I swear it.”