“You’ll be the brightest star—the most gifted of them all. They’ll notice you, and your name will be on every poster.”
Sophia folded over the blanket that covered her father and wept into its edge. His hand—weak but still warm—found her hair and drifted through it.
“Don’t cry, my girl,” he whispered. “Fate isn’t fooled. Better… listen.”
She lifted a tear-streaked face. Each word from him seemed to cost effort.
“Don’t interrupt. I have no strength left. Once there were two of us—Mikhail and me, Grigory. We were inseparable, blood-sworn brothers. Then your mother appeared. We both loved her. Do you understand? When love stands between people, friendship often steps aside. Your mother chose me, and Mikhail couldn’t accept it.”
He paused, breathing shallowly.
“But he’s a good man. If things become unbearable, go to him. He won’t abandon you. He owns the Breeze restaurant now. Remember that, Sophia. One day it may save you. There’s more, but… if he wishes, he’ll tell you himself.”
He tightened his fingers around hers. “Remember: I love you with all my heart. I believe in you. You will make it.”
Sophia clung to him. His body tensed—and then went slack.
“Dad! Dad!” Her cry broke across the room.
Hands pulled her back. Doctors moved in a blur. Sophia watched as if from a distant shore, one thought spinning and spinning: I am alone. I am completely alone in this world.
The next day, after the funeral and the last guest had gone, her stepmother’s gaze was cold as glass.
“Tomorrow you’ll find a job. I’m not feeding you.”
“I’m studying…”
“Studying?” A laugh like a snapped string. “Songs won’t feed you. If you don’t find work, you’re on the street. Understood?”
“This is my home!”
Her stepmother sprang up, eyes flashing. “Your home? This is my home. I am your father’s lawful wife. Mind your mouth. I’m speaking kindly now. I can speak differently.”
Sophia fled, slammed the door, and sobbed through the night with her father’s photograph pressed to her chest. By morning the tears were spent. Her decision wasn’t. Her father had left enough for her to finish school and take a swing at the dream he’d cherished for her.
He had always wanted her to sing. Since childhood, she’d won competitions. Teachers warned how brutal the climb would be—but even if she never broke through, they said, her voice could always earn her bread.
“Just imagine,” they used to tease, “the name Sophia Grigorieva—no one who hears it will ever forget it.”
She smiled through grief. Not only Grigorieva, she thought, but Grigoryevna—his daughter through and through.
In the morning she dressed quietly so as not to wake her stepmother and slipped out to class. She would study. Whatever it cost. It was what her father wanted.
When she returned, her stepmother was planted on the porch like a sentry. Sophia slowed, hoping the woman would move. She didn’t.
“Well? Did you get a job?”
“I was at school.”
Sophia tried to pass. The woman shifted, blocking her.
“At school, huh? A singer, are we?” Hands on hips. “With that voice like rusty hinges and that head empty of sense? With your looks, floors are your stage. I warned you.”
She dragged out a scuffed suitcase and a cheap bag and thrust them forward.
“Here. Take your things and get out. Go sing in the metro, frighten passersby. Maybe someone will toss a coin.”
The door banged shut. Bolts clicked. Sophia stared at the suitcase, then gathered it up and fled the yard.
“God, let no one see this,” she whispered. “Let Dad rest in peace.”
She hauled the suitcase down the street until the light went thin and blue. She had no relatives: both her parents were orphans. She didn’t know what to do.
Ahead, a sign glowed: Breeze. The restaurant. The place her father had named. There was no choice left. She squared her shoulders and pushed through the door.
A young host stepped forward. “Good evening. May I help with your things and show you to a table?”
“No, thank you. I need to see the owner—Mikhail.”
“Mikhail Yurievich?” He hesitated. “One moment.”
He returned with a tall, distinguished man in his mid-forties. “You were looking for me?”
Sophia nodded. “I… I’m the daughter of Elena and Grigory Grigoryev. My father said if I ever needed help, I should come to you.”
“Elena and Grigory?” His face shifted. “Why can’t Grisha help his own daughter?”
“My father is gone,” she said softly. “He passed away a few days ago.”
Mikhail flinched. Tears broke from her again. The young host offered tissues. “Water?”
Mikhail stirred. “Maxim, take her things to my office and bring some water.”
“Right away.”
He guided Sophia to a chair, voice gentler now. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Tell me what happened. Why are you carrying a suitcase?”
“My father had been ill a long time. After my mother died, it got worse. A woman—Zhanna—appeared. She pretended to care for him, but she didn’t love him. No one believed me; I was a child. A year and a half later she moved in. That’s when he first went to the hospital.”
“The doctors said his heart was worn out, like an old man’s. Zhanna kept house, brought food. When he was discharged, he didn’t send her away. They married later.”
“I hoped things would improve, but… Dad worked and worked, though the doctors told him not to. He always said his ‘star’ deserved a good future. He believed I would become one.”
“Before he died, he spoke of you and said if I needed help, I should find you.”
She met his eyes. “He said you were like brothers—until my mother came between you.”
Mikhail’s smile was sad. “Your mother never wanted to be the reason we fell out. She hesitated for a long time, even tried to leave so our friendship wouldn’t break. But by then it was too late. Grisha wouldn’t let her go.”
He took a breath. “Whatever happened, Elena and Grigory are family to me. You can lean on me as you would a father. Do you want a career in music?”
“I want… a normal life. Work. And, if I can, to finish school.”
He considered. “What if you stayed with me? I have a large house in the center. If you prefer, I’ll put you in a hotel until we find something better.”
“Could I stay with you? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Of course. I live alone—unless you count my fat, lazy cat, who ignores me because he knows I’m beneath him.”
A frail smile touched her mouth. “How do you know what he thinks?”
“When I come home, he’s fed, brushed, adored—the housekeeper treats him like a prince. I call, he flicks his tail and leaves. Open contempt.”
Then he grew solemn. “Sophia, it’s hard now. But Grigory was right. I’ll do what I can.”
“Were you truly that close? Why did you stop speaking?”
“We were. Life has a way of tangling the lines until right and wrong look alike. I’ll tell you someday, perhaps.”
A few days later, when Sophia’s grief had steadied into a workable ache, Mikhail said, “Let’s talk over a plan. We’ll go out.”
“Could we go to your restaurant? I’ve never been.”
“Of course.”
He insisted she continue her studies.
“But how will I live? You’re not obliged to support me. I meant to find work.”
“Wait—”
Maxim sprinted up, breathless. “Mikhail Yurievich, emergency.”
“What now?”
“In half an hour we have an anniversary party. The contract requires live music. The problem is…”
“Artem’s not coming. Again.” Mikhail rubbed his temples. “This story—again?”
“Yes.”
“Start calling everyone who’s worked with us.”
“We already have. If we fail the terms, we owe a penalty.”
“Forget the penalty. But the reputation…” He broke off.
Sophia touched his sleeve. “Uncle Mikhail, I can sing.”
“You?” He blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Don’t worry—I’ll manage.”
“This isn’t necessary,” he said softly. “You’ve never sung in a restaurant. It’s noisy, the atmosphere’s different.”
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “I promise.”
When she began, the room caught its breath. Conversation thinned, then vanished. Mikhail sat through every song. During the last, he whispered to the empty air, “Elena… I swear, our girl will be a star.”
Years earlier, he had behaved badly toward Elena—too insistent, too proud. She’d been frightened. When she learned she was pregnant, she tried to leave. Grigory stopped her, and the truth came out. The friends fought. Mikhail saw his fault but refused to admit it. Later he apologized, but it was too late. Grigory asked him never to contact them again. Now Mikhail chose not to burden Sophia with that story. It would only wound her.
That evening, Zhanna swept into Breeze on the arm of her new husband.
“Finally,” he sighed, already weary.
Zhanna loved to parade her “superiority.” They didn’t have much money, but she’d picked this restaurant to impress her friends. They were already seated when she sailed in and signaled a waiter with a queenly tilt of her chin.
“What’s the entertainment? Anyone singing tonight?”
“You’re in luck,” the waiter said. “For the next couple of nights we have our own rising star—Sophia. She’s local and performing this evening.”
The table bubbled with delight. “Unbelievable!”
Zhanna had heard the name, of course, but she lifted a shoulder, feigning ignorance. “Oh? From our town?”
“Yes,” the waiter said. “Studied here and got her start here. You might remember Grigory Grigoryev?”
The color drained from Zhanna’s face. “Grigory… Grigoryev?”
Her husband frowned. “Wasn’t that your last name once?”
“Coincidence,” she snapped. “As usual, you understand nothing. And you picked the wrong restaurant. Everything here is wrong.”
She cast a critical eye around and jabbed a finger. “Those burgundy curtains are atrocious.”
“How would I know you choose restaurants by the curtains?” her husband muttered. “And why are burgundy terrible when you have the same color in our bedroom?”
Zhanna scraped her chair back and turned her back to the stage. “God, what a husband I have. Other men improve an evening—mine ruins it.”
A hush rippled across the room. Then a young voice rose—clear, sorrow-sweet—and drifted through the lights. Zhanna crushed a napkin in her fist and tossed it down.
“So that’s our night? Sitting here, listening to some singer?”
Her husband stood with a sigh. “Ladies, forgive me. I’ll be back later to drive you home.”
Zhanna watched him go, startled and sour, then lifted her chin. “Fine. I’ll sit like a statue. No turning, no dancing…”
Onstage, Sophia sang on—steady, luminous—while the room leaned toward her like flowers finding the sun.