Chapter 3 Threads Tighten

Sophia sat stiffly at the dining table while the silver clock on the wall ticked louder than her father's chewing. Mrs. Kingston poured tea, eyes flicking between her husband and daughter. Sophia kept hers down, watching the steam rise from her cup.

"You were out again last night," Mr. Kingston said at last. His voice was calm, which was worse than when he shouted. "We've spoken about this."

"I went for a walk," Sophia murmured.

"You went to that bridge," he said. "With him."

Sophia's head snapped up. "How do you know?"

"People talk. And people see. It's a disgrace, Sophia. We've given you every comfort, every opportunity. Yet you sneak around with a boy from Riverside who cleans floors for a living."

Her fingers tightened around the cup. "Lucas isn't just-"

"Enough." His hand came down flat on the table. The china rattled. "You are a Kingston. You will behave like one."

Mrs. Kingston tried to smooth her apron. "Maybe if we-"

"Stay out of this, Margaret."Tomorrow you're going to West Bridge with me. We'll discuss a boarding school. Somewhere away from... distractions."

Sophia's breath caught. "You can't just-"

"I can," he said. "And I will."

Mr. Kingston set his knife and fork down. "Tomorrow night is the charity recital at the hall. Have you rehearsed your piece?"

Sophia blinked. "The recital?"

"Our name is on the programme. The trustees expect you to be there."

"I can't," she said quietly. "I promised Lucas I'd help him with his exam."

His jaw tightened. "Lucas Monroe again. A boy who has nothing to offer you but embarrassment."

"He's my friend."

"He's a distraction," Mr. Kingston snapped. "One you can no longer afford. You'll attend the recital and you'll look every inch a Kingston. Do I make myself clear?"

Sophia felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't a Kingston."

Her father stared at her as if she'd spoken a blasphemy. "You'll regret that tone, Sophia."

When he left the room, the silence felt heavy. Mrs. Kingston reached across the table and touched her daughter's hand. "He only wants what's best for you."

Sophia drew her hand back. "Then why does it feel like a prison?"

She stood and left the dining room, her mind already on the path to the bridge.

---

Lucas wiped down the café counter with slow, deliberate strokes, his mind far from the chipped mugs in front of him. Through the window he could see the bridge, grey under the lowering sky. He wanted to be there already.

"Lucas," Joe called from the kitchen. "You're miles away again."

"Sorry," Lucas muttered. He stacked the mugs, grabbed his coat and ducked out the back door. The streets smelled of rain and petrol. His uncle would be furious if he came home late, but Lucas didn't care. Every time Sophia left him on the bridge he felt a little stronger, a little more determined to make something of himself.

As he crossed the square he nearly bumped into a tall man handing out leaflets. "Easy there, kid," the man said with a grin. "Looking for work?"

Lucas hesitated. The flyer was for a scholarship test in West Bridge - the sort of chance he'd only dreamed about.

"Can't afford it," Lucas said.

"It's free," the man replied. "Apply. Might change your life."

Lucas folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket. "Maybe."

He walked on, glancing over his shoulder. The man was watching him go, still smiling. Lucas shivered. He wasn't used to strangers knowing his name.

He reached the bridge before Sophia, leaned against the rail and stared at the water. Somewhere out there was a life bigger than Riverside. He just didn't know how to reach it yet.

---

At the far edge of Riverside, in a tiny yellow house with ivy climbing the walls, Isabelle sat cross-legged on the floor, books spread around her. The smell of stew drifted from the kitchen where Mary hummed to herself.

"Math is boring," Isabelle announced.

Mary peeked around the doorframe. "Math helps you count your blessings," she teased.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "You always say that."

Mary smiled but her eyes lingered on her daughter. The child had her father's dark lashes and - she pressed a hand to her chest - her sister's quick smile. A smile Mary had not seen since that night years ago. Sometimes she still dreamed of Elena's tiny fists waving in the candlelight, the moment everything had split apart.

"Mama?" Isabelle's voice pulled her back. "Will we ever move away from here?"

Mary stirred the pot. "Why would you want to move?"

"Because the other girls at school talk about West Bridge. They say it's where dreams happen."

Mary's spoon slowed. "Dreams can happen anywhere," she said softly. "If you work for them."

Isabelle tilted her head. "Then why do you always look sad when you say that?"

Mary forced a smile. "Finish your sums."

Isabelle sighed and bent over her book. But as Mary turned back to the stove, her gaze fell on the photograph tucked into the frame of the window - a worn picture of herself holding two tiny babies. She reached to straighten it, her thumb brushing the edge. One day she would have to explain. But not yet. Not until she was sure.

---

That night Sophia crept out of her house again, her father's threats echoing in her ears. She needed to see Lucas, to feel his hand around hers and believe his promises. As she neared the bridge she noticed a shape leaning against the rail - not Lucas, someone else. The man from the square, perhaps, his face hidden under a hood.

He lifted his head as she approached and smiled a smile that made her stomach knot. Then he stepped back into the shadows and vanished.

"Lucas?" she whispered into the wind.

From the far side of the bridge came the sound of hurried footsteps.The sound of her own heartbeat roared in her ears. Somewhere in the reeds a frog croaked, and a cold drop of rain slid down her neck. She had never felt so sure that someone was watching.