Chapter 6 - Sophie’s Voice
Before Victoria could answer Mrs. Bellamy, the heavy basement door creaked open at the top of the stairs. Victoria turned to see Graham Ellis stepping into the hall, holding the hand of a little girl wearing a bright yellow snowsuit, mismatched purple mittens, and knit boots that had seen better days.
Sophie had large, luminous dark eyes, wild brown curls escaping her knit beanie, and cheeks flushed bright pink from the freezing wind outside. But she wasn't smiling. She was looking up at her father with a quiet, solemn understanding that no eight-year-old child should have to carry.
In his other hand, Graham held a single, bruised white tulip wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. It was the only stem he had managed to salvage or afford from the corner bodega on his meager break.
Graham stopped dead in his tracks the moment he spotted Victoria standing by the kitchen counter. His posture went rigid. His instinct was to shield his daughter, stepping half a pace in front of her as if the CEO of Whitmore Properties were an inspector sent to reprimand him for leaving work early.
""Ms. Whitmore,"" Graham said, his voice flat, exhausted, and cautious. ""What are you doing here?""
""Graham, please,"" Victoria began, taking a tentative step forward, her voice cracking. ""I came to find you.""
Sophie peeked out from behind her father’s winter coat. Her eyes drifted from Victoria’s elegant suit down to the cream-colored construction paper clutched in Victoria’s hand.
""Dad,"" Sophie whispered, tugging his sleeve. ""That lady has my drawing.""
Graham looked down at the envelope in Victoria’s hand, then back to her face. A flicker of cold anger crossed his features. ""Did you bring that here to return the trash, Ms. Whitmore? If you want to fire me for abandoning my shift, do it on Monday. Don't do it in front of my daughter.""
""No! No, Graham, please listen to me,"" Victoria pleaded, tears finally spilling over her lashes, completely unmindful of the twenty people at the nearby tables who had turned to watch. ""I didn't know. I swear on my life, I didn't know.""
Sophie stepped around her father’s legs before Graham could stop her. She walked right up to Victoria, tilting her head back to look at the tall woman crying in the middle of the church basement.
""Did you throw them away because they were ugly?"" Sophie asked, her voice small, innocent, and entirely devoid of malice. ""The grocery man said white tulips aren't as pretty as the red roses rich people buy. But my mom said white tulips mean you’re opening your arms to give somebody a hug when they have nobody left.""
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The little girl’s question shattered the last remaining pieces of Victoria Whitmore’s carefully constructed world. She dropped to her knees right there on the dirty, salted basement floor, ruining her thousand-dollar trousers without a second thought. She brought herself down to Sophie’s eye level, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
""They weren't ugly, Sophie,"" Victoria wept, reaching out with trembling hands but hesitating before touching the girl’s mittens. ""They were the most beautiful flowers in the entire city. And I was too blind, too selfish, and too foolish to see it.""
