My Step father his best friend and I

Sophia The air hostess’s gentle touch on my shoulder pulls me out of sleep. “Miss Ramsey, we’ve arrived.” My eyes blink open slowly, lashes heavy, mind foggy, and for a disorienting second I forget where I am. Then the muted hum of engines easing down, the faint vibration beneath my feet, the soft cream leather of the private jet seats remind me. Home. I straighten in my seat, rubbing at my eyes as the jet taxis smoothly along the hangar. Sunlight spills through the oval windows, warm and familiar, and my chest tightens in a way I hadn’t prepared for. I didn’t dream the last few years away. I’d lived them but something about landing back here makes it feel as though I’m stepping into a life I’d paused but had obviously gone on without me. The door opens. Fresh air rushes in. Voices murmur. Before I can even think about grabbing my bag, two uniformed guards are already lifting my luggage from the overhead compartment with practiced efficiency. I swallow the instinctive urge to protest. This is what my life has always looked like from the outside; lots of money, structure, invisible hands guiding every step. I descend the narrow stairs, my shoes clicking softly against metal, and the tarmac stretches wide beneath me. A sleek black SUV idles nearby, windows darkly tinted, engine purring. Another guard opens the rear door without a word. I slide inside. The door shuts with a decisive thud, sealing me into cool leather and silence. The car pulls away, smooth and effortless, the world outside reduced to blurred shapes and passing light. I press my forehead lightly against the glass. The last time I left this city, I was nineteen. Angry. Hollow. Certain that leaving was the only way to breathe again. My father had been gone barely a year, the house too large, the memories too loud. Mom had smiled through her grief, telling me school abroad would be good for me. It was. But it also taught me how distance can quietly turn into absence. The gates of the Ramsey estate appear ahead, tall and familiar, ironwork still immaculate. They open as we approach, and the driveway curves inward, winding through manicured gardens and old oak trees that haven’t changed a bit. My chest tightens. The SUV stops in front of the house. The house. Cream stone, wide windows, ivy crawling up one side like it always has. It looks exactly the same. And yet I don’t feel like the same person stepping out onto the gravel drive. The front door opens before I even reach it. “Sophia.” My mom’s voice cracks through the air, and suddenly she’s there; Daisy Ramsey, radiant as ever, arms already wrapping around me. I inhale the familiar scent of her perfume and shampoo, something floral and comforting, and hug her back hard, fingers digging into her shoulders like she might disappear if I don’t hold tight enough. “Oh my God,” she laughs breathlessly, pulling back just enough to cup my face. “Look at you. You look… older.” I snort. “That’s one way to say it.” She laughs, eyes glossy, and pulls me into the house, her hand warm around mine. Inside, everything smells like polish and fresh flowers, just like it always has. Home, curated and perfect. Upstairs, my room is exactly as I left it. Pale walls. Tall windows. The same bedspread folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Someone’s kept it pristine. And I obviously knew who the someone was. Mom closes the door behind us and immediately sits beside me on the bed, excitement radiating from her. We talk fast, overlapping, laughing, about my courses, my apartment abroad, the horrible professor who hated my essays, the friends I made and lost. “I hated the weather,” I say, grinning. “But the freedom? Worth it.” She listens with rapt attention, nodding, smiling, her hand resting on my knee. Then she grows quiet. There’s a pause. A shift. “Sophia,” she says gently, “there’s something I need to tell you.” My stomach tightens. She clasps her hands together, eyes flicking away from mine for just a second too long. “I… I got married.” The words land heavy. “You….what?” I blink. “Married? You got married. What do you mean you got married?” She nods quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “It was… sudden. But good. It’s for the best. For-For us.” I stare at her, my mouth opening and closing uselessly. “Mom, you didn’t mention dating. Or…or anything for that matter. And now you’re married?” “I know,” she says softly. “And I’m sorry. It all happened faster than I expected.” Something about the way she says it, so careful, and measured makes my skin prickle. “Who is he?” I ask warily. “You’ll meet him soon,” she replies, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tomorrow night, probably. If he has time. Oh, and we’re attending a gala.” I groan, flopping back onto the bed. “You’re kidding. I just got back.” I whine. “Besides…My debut into high society at twenty-four? I’m like, too old.” She laughs, leaning over me to kiss my cheek. “You’ll survive. Now eat, rest. I’ll have the chefs make your favorite for dinner.” She stands, smoothing her skirt. “We’ll talk more later.” The door clicks shut behind her. I sit up slowly, staring at the wood grain where she stood moments ago. Married. Suddenly. Without telling me. When did we drift so far enough apart for this to happen? For my mom to get married without me having any idea whatsoever? A strange unease curls in my chest as I head to the bathroom. The shower steams quickly, water cascading over my shoulders, but it doesn’t wash away the feeling settling deep in my bones. Tomorrow, I’ll meet the man my mother married. And for some reason, I wasn’t looking forward to it.