Sophie:The broken Mistress

The air was refreshingly cool, and Sophie decided this was the best time to rest under the fig tree, which stood proudly at the center of the park.

Families and couples arrived some minutes after the sunset, and they sprayed mats on the grass or lounged on the benches that the park provided.

Sophie watched the kids squeal and giggle as they ran around each other. The parents were engrossed in their discussions, and once or twice she heard them laugh at something someone was saying.

The park was a quiet place during the day, and it was here that Sophie spent most of her time, and the rest of it she spent behind the oven doing what she loved most.

She turned her face up to the sky, allowing the cool breeze to romance her face and play with her long hair. She felt at ease with life; it was like the world paused and all her worries were gone.

Her notebook, her only companion, rested on her lap, together with her notepad. She had gotten the notebook about twelve years ago, immediately after the incident with her uncle, which she dared not think about. The notebook was more of a journal and diary since she carried the book around,using it as a channel to pour out her thoughts, frustrations, anxiety, and pains.

Although life had not been a bed of roses for her, Sophie tried to survive in it. She knew firsthand the cruelty of life and men, but she was not willing to give up. That was why she had saved up and opened the shop; with the little earnings she made, she was able to rent an apartment for herself and move out of her aunt's and uncle's house.

A couple passed by where she sat, murmuring their greetings at her, and Sophie responded with a nod of the head. The sun had finally disappeared from the sky, and she could notice a handful of stars scattered about in the sky.

She stood from where she had been sitting. It was time to go.

The walk from the park to her shop was quite short, and it did not take long before she arrived at the front door.

The shop was sandwiched between a restaurant and a laundromat, and opposite them was a small jewelry and pawn store whose owner looked more shady than the business that went on inside.

Sophie stood for a minute, gazing at the shop and running through the memories that had brought her here. She could clearly remember her aunt's words to her as she wrote that she had gotten a shop with her savings.

"A shop?" her aunt had asked incredulously. Her eyes had appraised Sophie, and her lips curled into something that might have been a smile, save for the look on her face.

"Yes." Sophie had written in her notepad and cleaned it once she saw that her aunt had seen it.

Sophie was speech impaired, which means she could not communicate properly, but she had never bothered to learn the basic sign language for communication, and with valid reasons; her aunt and uncle, whom she had the most communication with, would never go through the stress of learning the language for her, and she could not afford it. Not when she was saving for the shop.

"I have been taking catering classes. I think I'm ready to try it out; it's what I like to do." Sophie wrote.

Her aunt took one quick glance at it and burst out laughing. Her head flew back, and her hand held her stomach. She laughed as much as she liked. Once she had laughed to her satisfaction, she looked Sophie in the eyes and told her how ridiculous the idea sounded.

"You're mute, Sophie. Say you are going to start this business now. How do you intend to communicate with your customers? Mhmm? Go on, tell me. because no one can hear a mute girl speak. Not to deter you, my darling, but you can try something different."

But Sophie would not easily be deterred; she had straightened her back, squared her shoulders, looked her aunt in the eyes, and wrote that she was doing this, with or without her permission.

Three months later, Sophie had rented her own apartment and moved out. Her aunt had not believed it and still finds it hard to believe to this day.

A loud horn from a passing car woke Sophie from her reverie, and she sighed. She had come a long way since that day. She had faced the storm, met with a lot of hurdles, and thought about giving up so many times, but still, she always found herself back here. Somehow, she had been able to convince herself that this was all she had and that it was all she worked for.

She made her way into the shop and was immediately greeted by Rhys, her assistant and receptionist.

"Welcome, Sophie." He said it without looking up. "How did your walk go?"

She gave him a thumbs up, and a smile crept to his face. Sophie always wondered how he did it and how he knew her response when he could not hear her voice, and he was obviously concentrating on something else.

Rhys always said he could hear her in his head, and that was why he could tell what she was signing or writing even when he was not looking. Sophie always called his bluff.

Sophie began to walk away; she had a few things to bake before they finally retired home for the day.

"Uhhh, before you go," Rhys called. His head was underneath his desk, and Sophie could hear the clangs and bangs of pans as he searched for something. His head came back up shortly after, and he shook his head once more in an effort to move his long bangs from his eyes. It was futile.

She sighed, stretching her hand. She moved the bangs from his face to behind his ear.

Rhys handed her a letter. "It came from the agency while you were away. You might want to go through it."

Sophie raised a perfectly carved brow. She took the letter from his outstretched hand, wondering what it was about that Rhys could not just handle it alone.

Usually, Rhys did stuff like this. He prepared all the documents she needed and made sure their accounts and tax books were up-to-date; basically, everything was his unit.

She looked at the letter, noting the agency's logo and their name spelled out in fine, meticulous prints behind the envelope.

Her eyes went back to Rhys, who, as if understanding her unspoken question, quickly shrugged his shoulders.

Sophie tore the letter open and ran her eyes through its content, then looked up to Rhys and then to the shop across theirs, whose shutters were sealed shut.

"What does it say?" Rhys asked impatiently.

She handed the letter to him and placed her notepad on the table. "Apparently, the laundromat and the restaurant have been bought, as has the land around them, and the new owner will start renovations as early as next week." She wrote.

"Did anyone ever approach you to buy this place?" Rhys asked.

Sophie shook her head. "It's weird that they would buy the two buildings and leave us in the middle, isn't it?" she wrote.

Rhys nodded. "It's quite weird." He conferred. "Perhaps you want to visit our neighbor? He might know one or two things about what's going on."

Sophie nodded. She left Rhys and made her way into the bakery. Perhaps they were thinking too much about the situation; perhaps they were too underprepared, but Sophie liked to stay on top of things.

She took off the shawl that she had wrapped around her neck and sat on a stool close to the large oven, which filled almost half of the room.

She heard the door open and saw Rhys enter slowly.

"What's going on in your head, Sophie?" He asked carefully, trying not to make her more upset than she already was.

"Nothing." Sophie signed, holding back a tear that threatened to fall from her eyes.

Rhys took the seat closest to her and laid his palm over hers. "Its nothing." He said this, gazing into the fire. "I assure you."

He returned her notepad to her; she had left it on his desk earlier. That was how he knew she was distressed. She never moved a step without the notepad.

Rhys thought back to when he first met Sophie about five years ago and how much both of them had grown around each other since then and depended on each other.

Most times, people thought she depended on him too much. She was powerless on her own; there was nothing against the force of the world, which was quick to condemn and judge people like her.

But they were wrong. If anything, Rhys depended more on Sophie to survive. She took care of them both, providing for them emotionally and mentally, so that with each day that went by, he felt himself meaning into her more and more.

Sophie had been strong since the first day he met her. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place.

The air had been frigidly cold that morning, and Rhys, in his convocation attire, had proudly been waiting for the arrival of his mother. He was going to show her what man he had become and what man she had made.

He had watched his friends and peers meet with their own families, smiles and tears gleaming on their faces, and he looked towards the road expectantly, waiting for the money. His mother would run towards him, wide arms, with a proud smile on her face and some tears in her eyes, and she would hug him, kiss him, and tell him how proud she was of him.

But it never happened; his phone had vibrated in his pocket, and the next voice he heard sent him running mad to the hospital.

His mother had been involved in a ghastly car accident on her way to his school.

The news had swept him off his feet fast, but still, he had not made it to the hospital in time to see his mother draw her last breath.

He had wailed and cried, but nothing could bring his mother back. The days that followed were dark and foggy. Rhys remembered trudging around town like a ghost. He remembered standing below the highest tower in town and staring up at it.

He had chosen it as his spot. The spot where he would end this life and begin another one with his mother.

It was on this tower that he met Sophie. The woman, who, without a voice, had saved him from the edge of death and brought him back to life,.

She had held the hem of his shirt, which flapped with the wind, and when he turned to look down at her, he saw that she was just a stranger. She hand-drew him from the ledge and pulled him into her arms, cuddling him as he struggled and cried till he had no more strength left in him and drifted into a long sleep.

She stayed with him all through as he slept, allowing him to use her leg as his pillow, until he woke up. And when he did, he was surprised that she had stayed.

She had taken her notepad and written something that he would never forget.

"The world is cruel, yes. But it is also what we make of it."

In the days that followed, she would invite him to her bakery, make him bread, and watch him eat. Although she never once opened her mouth, he could feel her in his thoughts and read into her smiles, and the more time they spent together, the more he came to love life more.

Sophie looked at herself in the mirror. She had not changed a lot since she left her aunt and uncle about six years ago.

Her hair had grown, though; it was at her waistline now. And her hips and legs had become more accentuated and rounder.

It certainly attracted many men to her, this figure and face that she had. But they were quick to leave once they learned of her disability. Rhys was the only man who had stayed with her long enough, and sometimes she wondered why.

She definitely was not paying him a lot. It was average, to say the least, but he always insisted on staying.

She gazed once again at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. Her aunt had always liked to remind her of how much she resembled her mother but would never allow her to see a photo of the woman.

She picked up her notebook from the dresser before her and leafed through it. In its pages, she picked a photo and held it up to her face.

She had stolen the photo from her aunt's room one fateful night when her aunt and uncle had been away. She could not clearly remember what she had been looking for in her aunt's room, but she had found the photo and knew instinctively that the woman in the photo was her mother.

A half of the photo had been torn away, but Sophie did not care for that part. Her small finger had slid on the surface of the photo, and she imagined touching her mother's face as she touched the photo.

Now, as she looked at the woman who stared at her from the mirror and the woman in the photo, she could barely tell them apart. It was as though the woman in the mirror and the woman in the photo were one and the same.

Her aunt had been both right and wrong. Yes, she did greatly resemble her mother in physical appearance, but one thing was different. Where she had fiery red hair, the woman in the photo had pale blonde hair.

Sophie arrived at the shop later than usual. A large tote bag hung limply from her shoulder. The door to her office opened, and Rhys rushed out.

"Sophie." He greeted. "Pleasant morning."

Sophie nodded her head.

He took the bag from her shoulder and led her back into the office. Sophie rounded her small desk and took her seat, noting the two mugs that lay on her desk.

Rhys gently laid her bag on the table. "You might be wondering what I'm doing here."

She nodded towards the cups.

"You know the new owner? Well, he's here. He wanted to see you, though, but you kept him waiting for quite a while. Did you check your phone? I left quite a lot of voicemails and texts."

"Did he say why he wanted to see me?" Sophie signed.

Rhys took his head. "No. Not really." He picked up the mugs, then disappeared into a room. Sophie heard the rush of running water, then he reappeared.

"He kind of only took a look around your office and then stated that he was leaving and would return later. He's quite the guy, you know. Rusty beards, long bangs, extremely masculine, with the chest and all." He touched his chest. "Weird macho, dude. I wonder what he thinks he's doing by buying out these places like this.

Sophie dug through her bag as Rhys spoke. She came out with her notebook, a notepad, and a pen.

"Well, if he returns again, we'll see him. Till then, let's just focus on work." She wrote. "We have orders."

Rhys nodded and returned to his spot, leaving Sophie with her thoughts.

As much as Rhys felt he knew Sophie, there were things he still could not say about her. Over time, he had come to believe that he could understand her even without her speech, which he did to some extent, but there was a whole lot of her that he did not know.

Most days, such as this day, She was as mysterious to him as the first day he met her. Yesterday, she was broken as her eyes skimmed through the letters, but today, she could not care less.

Her eyes showed nothing to the contrary, and it usually left him uncertain about how to approach her.

Still, he manned his post as a guard dog would. If anything was constant, it was his trust and deep respect for Sophie. Although he did not know her past, she never spoke of it or allowed him a glimpse in her eyes, but he could guess that it had been a rough one.

He pulled the apron he had been wearing and hung it over the wall, then slipped out of the shop and into the pawn shop.

"What's up, Neal?" Rhys greeted as soon as the bell announced his entrance.

Neal, the shop owner, stood behind the long desk, working tediously on the instrument in his hand.

"Sup, Rhys." The man answered without looking up. "What brings you here? How's the... Baker, what's her name again?"

"Sophie."

"Yeah, Sophie. How's she? Still baking?"

"Of course." Rhys answered, glancing around.

An assortment of jewelry vied for attention in cases that covered almost all the walls of the large shop. In the middle of the room, display glasses-almost as large as the ones used for display at the bakery-housed the most expensive collections of jewelry Rhys had ever had the privilege of seeing.

And lastly, there was the collection, which glowed triumphantly upon Neal's desk. The room was dimly lit-perfect lighting for each of the jewelleries to glow.