Sofia's POV
It has been three weeks since the evening at the beach.
I would be dishonest if I said I have not replayed that night in my mind repeatedly. The candles. The wind. The way his fingers brushed mine and neither of us moved away.
But more than the memory, it is the question that lingers.
Why me?
Out of all the women in the world — women taller, more beautiful, more confident, more socially acceptable — why would he look at me and decide I was enough?
I love myself. I value myself. I have built companies from nothing. I have survived rejection and humiliation.
But when you grow up abandoned… when you grow up being called a witch because of your height… sometimes self-love coexists with insecurity.
Both can live in the same heart.
---
Over the past three weeks, we finalized the legal documentation for Mr. Haywood's fifty-four hotels across Africa. Contracts, negotiations, site evaluations — we worked efficiently, professionally.
I tried to avoid Antonio.
God knows I did.
But I kept encountering him in the most unexpected places.
At first, I wondered if he was tracking me. Then I realized how self-centered that thought was.
We simply existed in the same spaces.
Morning Mass at St. Joseph Catholic Parish, up Capitol Hill. Almost every morning.
Evenings at the orphanage.
The nuns began assigning us tasks together — organizing supplies, serving meals, tutoring the older children.
I told myself it meant nothing.
But watching him kneel to tie a little boy's shoe… seeing him lift a child effortlessly into his arms… listening to him speak gently to a crying girl who had nightmares…
I saw something the world did not see.
The world described him as ruthless. Strategic. Intimidating.
But here — he was patient.
Tender.
Intentional.
I caught myself imagining him as a father.
And the thought unsettled me more than it should have.
---
One evening after volunteering, he asked if I would walk along the beach.
I told Coleman to wait.
Antonio drove in silence. Twilight stretched across the sky, casting hues of amber and deep orange over the ocean. The clouds looked as though they had been dipped in molten gold.
Nature always calms me.
I was not looking at him when he approached.
My attention was fixed on the horizon.
"Sofia."
When I turned, he was holding blue and white roses.
Blue roses.
I once read that in some cultures, blue symbolizes a man claiming the woman he loves. I was unsure what the white meant.
Purity? Peace? Sincerity?
Or perhaps I was overthinking.
Maybe he did not mean it that way.
He stepped closer.
"Sofia Gabrielle Parker," he began, voice steady but softer than usual, "over these past weeks, I have come to know you. And I have fallen in love with you."
My breath caught.
Before I could object, he continued.
"This is not infatuation. I know what infatuation feels like. I have written about love. Studied it. Spoken about it publicly. Love is not measured by time. It is not quantified by duration. It is recognition. And my heart recognizes you."
He moved slightly closer, but not enough to overwhelm me.
"I admire your compassion. The way you give without expecting return. Your devotion to God. Your resilience. Your ambition. The way you continue striving for excellence even when the world attempts to diminish you."
His eyes softened.
"I was wrong the first day we met. I judged you. And I regret it deeply. If you give me the opportunity, I will spend my life making amends."
Then he asked quietly,
"Will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?"
Silence enveloped us.
My heart wanted to say yes.
But another part of me — the younger Sofia, the abandoned child — whispered:
No one chooses you.
No one stays.
Tears blurred my vision.
"Why me?" My voice trembled. "You could choose anyone. I am a dwarf. My own parents abandoned me because of it. People called me a witch. Even you mistook me for a child. Why would you choose me?"
The words escaped before I could restrain them.
Antonio did not look uncomfortable.
He did not look ashamed.
He looked resolute.
"Why not you?" he replied calmly. "Is love reserved only for those who meet society's physical standards? Have you not seen people with far greater challenges find happiness?"
He stepped closer but allowed space for me to retreat if I needed.
"Your parents were wrong. They failed to recognize the gift God entrusted to them. I see it. And I want to cherish it — for as long as you permit me."
His voice deepened.
"You deserve to be chosen. You deserve to love and to be loved. I am not asking for an immediate answer. Pray about it. Reflect. But do not reject this because of insecurity. Everyone deserves love, Sofia."
We spent the rest of the evening in contemplative silence.
---
I prayed.
For days, I prayed.
And something within me — an unexplainable calm — settled.
It was time.
Time to stop punishing myself for wounds I did not create.
When I finally said yes, Antonio did not shout or boast.
He simply exhaled.
Relief softened his face — a rare vulnerability.
And I felt something unfamiliar.
Chosen.
Not pitied.
Not tolerated.
Chosen.
---
I did not tell Saydai.
She had never been entirely transparent with me.
Three days later, she arrived at work visibly distressed. Her eyes avoided mine. Her hands trembled while organizing files.
I assumed something was wrong at home.
I did not press.
At 4:30 p.m., as I was prepared to leave, she approached my office.
Her face was pale. Her eyes are swollen.
"Saydai?" I stood. "What is wrong? You have not been yourself today. Did something happen? Did I do something unknowingly?"
She broke down.
"I… I am sorry, Sofia. Please forgive me."
My mind raced.
Company betrayal? Financial misconduct?
Those were the only things I feared deeply.
"What did you do?" I asked quietly.
She wiped her tears.
"I did not know who you were when we became friends," she said. "I only realized the night you got drunk and cried for your parents… and your brothers… and prayed for them."
My chest tightened.
"I have carried this for years," she continued. "I thought I could remain silent. But my son keeps asking why you never visit. And I cannot lie anymore."
She inhaled sharply.
"I am married to your older brother, Stanzas."
The room felt smaller.
Air became scarce.
The woman I had trusted for years.
The woman I considered my closest friend.
Married to the brother who never searched for me.
Who allowed me to disappear.
My ears rang.
I could not speak.
And when words finally came, they were barely audible.
"What?"
Author's POV.
What do you think about Saydai's betrayal?
If it were you, what would you have done?
How are you?
Hope everything is okay in your life.
Remember this no matter what the circumstances are never give up hope.
As there is still someone above who knows you and will choose you count- what-made.
Kindly comment your thoughts, vote and share.
Xoxo
Bella Angel Douglas