The first time Sofia stepped onto the small restaurant stage, she wasn’t chasing glory; she was just trying to survive. Yet the moment her voice broke through the clinking glasses and quiet chatter, the room stilled as if time itself was listening. In the half-light, Mikhail watched her not as a businessman saving his event, but as a man silently atoning for the past he’d ruined and the friendship he’d lost.
Each note stitched something back together: a father’s broken dream, a mother’s silent sacrifice, an old friend’s shame. While Zhanna squirmed at a distant table, terrified the truth might surface, Sofia finally felt seen not as a burden, but as a promise. She didn’t know the full story behind the eyes watching her from the dark, nor the secrets buried in her own surname. She only knew that, for the first time since her father died, she was no longer alone.
