How Old Is Sofia The First の小説・ストーリー

I had forgotten, I had genuinely, completely forgotten. Mila stepped forward. She had a cake. A real one large and beautiful, with candles already lit, being carried with the focused gravity of a seven-and-three-quarters-year-old who had been entrusted with an important object and was performing the duty at maximum commitment. "Happy birthday, Sofia," she said. "You're twenty-one." I stared at the cake. I stared at the hall. I stared at all the people in it. Then I started laughing. The real one, the full one.

This went on for years. However, eighteen years later, Sofia’s mom dropped her off on her father’s doorstep in Rome, and she never looked back. The last time Marco had seen his daughter was when she was just a few months old. Sofia was now eighteen and knew nothing about her father’s lust for young girls. The first few weeks being back with her father seemed to go well for Sofia; she was finally getting a chance to get to know her dad.

a voice whispered. I didn't need to turn to know it was Sofia. My youngest daughter, now ten million and ninety-five years old in the way we measured time, walked with a grace that was entirely her own. She was the one who had taken the stories of our pain and woven them into the curriculum of hope that defined the atoll’s education.

My unnervingly calm reply made Vittorio's expression turn dark. He scowled and said, "Sofia is only seven years old." "She already has a mind of her own," I said evenly. That was the truth. Sofia was already capable of many things on her own—like pushing me into the sea, like tearing apart Mamma's memorial portrait and scattering her ashes like they meant nothing. Vittorio snapped, "Are you still upset about what happened earlier today?"

Then, she drove to pick up Ethan and Emily. Sofia was right, Emily had become a bookworm. She was reading a book when Sydney picked her up from Sofia's; she was reading a psychology textbook she got from God knows where at four in the morning. Ethan, on the other hand, was a pain in the neck. Sydney wondered how timid Sofia was to take care of him. She owed her a lot. She had been a lot of help to Sydney over the past few months. Maybe she'd love to go out with Sydney tonight. Sofia was twenty five and she had only been in one relationship. Sydney was bewildered to hear that Sofia wasn't bad with her looks. She had a beautiful body and a lovely soul. Maybe, she'd go well for Blake or Gabriel

But with Sofia, I already couldn’t wait until the next time I saw her. She had been just eighteen years old when I first wanted to fuck her. If she had been older, I would have lifted up her dress and fucked her against the wall outside the party. But she was too young, too innocent. I was an asshole to the worst degree…but I wouldn’t do something like that. We were still the same number of years apart, but now she was a grown woman, a woman with confidence and experience. Judging from the way she fucked me, she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Would she... be willing to come back?" Joseph looked at Madam Kensington and said, "Grandma, don't worry, she is doing well now. She has a loving father and a caring mother. Her real name is 'Sofia' and she is from Bryston, currently living there. If you want to meet her, I can bring her home." Madam Kensington nodded, "Yes, I want to see her, of course. It has been five years... I really miss her. This silly girl, since she is still alive, why doesn't she know to come back home?"

“Because my world continued.” “How long?” “Thirty-one years.” Sophie whispered: “Do you know me?” Older Elena looked at her. Her face broke. “Yes.” Sophie stepped forward. “How old was I?” “Which time?” Sophie flinched. Older Elena immediately corrected herself. “Sorry.” She looked carefully. “In my world, you are thirty-nine.” Sophie stopped. “Alive?” “Yes.” Sophie’s knees nearly gave out. Lucas caught her. The older Elena continued:

But her hunger had died along with her thoughts. Sofia glanced at the wall clock and saw that it read midnight. She had just turned eighteen and no one else was around to wish her a happy birthday, not even her father remembered. Sofia retreated to her room and grabbed her mother's photo frame, holding it close to her chest as tears streamed down her face. The night seemed endless as she cried about the unfairness of her life.

I find it ridiculous that I can’t decide on a damn cake topper from the catalog in front of me. “Can I weigh in?” A sweet voice from my side draws my attention from thoughts. Sofia tagged along with me today, and I’m happy to have her with me. She’s a sweet girl who is so naive. Sofia lives in a bubble and she believes in a fairytale that I want to tell her is real. However, she’s young. Freshly eighteen and totally clueless about the real world. Sofia is another example of the women in the mafia world. Sofia is surprisingly thrilled to have a baby, but she also believes it’s her only purpose. It’s upsetting to me because I realize how easily I could have been her if my father was still aliv