CHAPTER 7

SOPHIA'S POV

It was finally Friday.

As soon as my last class ended, I rushed home, eager to get there before my parents arrived for their usual weekend visit. I needed time to make sure everything was in order, to convince myself that I was safe—that the nightmare of the past few days had been just that. A nightmare.

The drive home felt longer than usual. My hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, and my eyes constantly flickered to the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see a dark figure lurking behind me. But there was nothing. No suspicious cars trailing me. No strangers watching from the sidewalks.

Just my paranoia eating away at me.

When I finally pulled into my driveway, I let out a small sigh of relief. The house looked the same—untouched. Nothing seemed out of place.

Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances.

I grabbed my bag, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside. The first thing I did was check every single room, just to be sure.

The living room—clear.

The kitchen—clear.

My bedroom—clear.

Even the guest room my parents always used looked exactly how I had left it last weekend. There were no gifts waiting for me, no unsettling letters left on my pillow.

Maybe changing the locks had worked. Maybe, whoever he was, had finally decided to leave me alone.

I wanted to believe that.

I needed to believe that.

With a deep breath, I tried to shake off the lingering fear clinging to my skin. My parents couldn’t see me like this. If I so much as hinted that something was wrong, they wouldn’t hesitate to take me home with them. And as tempting as that sounded, I couldn’t let some deranged stalker ruin my life.

I had to move forward.

So, I forced myself to focus on something productive—getting the guest room ready for my parents.

I stripped the old bedsheets and replaced them with freshly washed ones, fluffing the pillows and smoothing out the blanket with practiced ease. Cleaning had always been therapeutic for me, a way to keep my mind busy when anxiety threatened to take over.

Once I was satisfied with the room, I went downstairs to prepare dinner. My parents always appreciated a home-cooked meal after their long drive, and I wanted everything to be perfect.

I decided to make something simple but hearty—pasta with homemade marinara sauce and grilled chicken. I chopped the vegetables carefully, my hands moving with a steadiness I didn’t entirely feel.

As the sauce simmered on the stove, the house was filled with the comforting aroma of garlic and tomatoes. For the first time in days, I allowed myself to relax just a little.

I could do this.

I could pretend everything was normal.

At least for tonight.

---

A few hours later, my parents finally arrived.

The moment my mom stepped through the door, she pulled me into a tight hug. “My baby! You look exhausted. Are you eating properly?”

I laughed softly. “Yes, Mom. I’m fine. Just a lot of schoolwork, that’s all.”

My dad ruffled my hair like he used to when I was a kid. “You work too hard. You need to have some fun every once in a while.”

If only they knew.

I ushered them inside, helping them with their bags while my mom continued to fuss over me.

“Did you lock the door when you got home?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I nodded quickly. “Of course. I always do.”

She hummed, clearly not convinced, but didn’t press the issue further.

Dinner went by smoothly. My parents chatted about their week, my dad told his usual corny jokes, and for a little while, I almost forgot about the lingering fear in the back of my mind.

“Lorraine’s doing better now. She’s able to walk around the house on her own,” Dad said, taking a sip of his coffee. Mom, sitting across from me, shot me a look, her eyes narrowing slightly. I stifled a laugh, knowing that Dad would totally ground me if I so much as snickered at Aunt Lorraine’s fall.

"So, how are your studies going, sweetheart?" Dad asked, his voice warm and caring as he buttered a piece of toast.

I shrugged, not sure how to sum up the endless stress I’d been feeling. "Not great, but not terrible either. Just really stressful and exhausting," I said, trying to keep things light. “I’m managing.”

Mom, however, didn’t seem to be listening. Her eyes lit up, and before I could finish my sentence, she chimed in. “And she still doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

I groaned. "Mom!" I practically shouted. This was getting ridiculous. My mom was like Carol in so many ways—constantly trying to pry into my love life.

Dad gave me a sideways grin. “Honey, that’s actually good. No boys until you’re 25,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying this. I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at Mom, but she was unfazed.

“Well, that’s not exactly what you said when you approached me at 21,” Mom shot back with a smirk, reminding us all how she and Dad had gotten together when she was younger.

“Hey, you were my girl, and this is my daughter. It’s different,” Dad said, raising his hands in mock defense.

“No, it’s not,” Mom countered, leaning forward. “She needs to have a little fun, experience life a bit. It’s not like I was a virgin when you married me.”

I buried my face in my hands. Were we really going to go down this road? Again? I loved my parents, but sometimes I really wished things were simpler. Maybe if I’d been born a boy, I wouldn’t have to endure these endless conversations. I would be treated differently, with a little more freedom.

“Okay, guys, stop,” I said, trying to take control. “I’ll date when I feel like it. For now, I just want to focus on school, not on boys.”

Dad nodded approvingly, as if I’d just won some kind of victory. But Mom shook her head. She wasn’t convinced. “You don’t understand,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “A girl shouldn’t waste her early twenties away. You should have fun, make memories. Then settle down afterward. But no random hookups, you need to have a boyfriend first.”

I couldn’t let her go on. “When I was your age—” she started, but I cut her off. The last thing that I wanted to hear right now was her telling me stories of how she lived her life back when she was my age. Because trust me this woman was nothing near a saint back then. Grandmother used to tell me how she was worried if she would ever get married one day because of how she was, but surprise surprise she did walk down that isle and she was happy.

“No more speeches, Mom. Please.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine, no more speeches. But we almost forgot to tell you something important. You’re going to be a big sister.”

I froze mid-sip of my water, my brain trying to process what she was saying. “Wait, what? Seriously? A baby?”

Both Mom and Dad were practically beaming, proud of their announcement. It took me a second to realize they weren’t joking.

“Mom, you’re 45, and I’m 20. Why now?” I blurted, genuinely shocked. I wasn’t upset about the idea of a baby, but the timing was... unexpected. Being an only child had its perks, and now that might change. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the whole thing. Suddenly, I wasn’t going to be the center of attention anymore, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that. Plus, I was sure I’d end up as the unofficial babysitter and there wouldn't be room for me to object to it because they wouldn’t let me anyway.

“Well, you’re all grown up now,” Dad said, his voice steady. “And soon you’ll be moving out. We won’t see you as much, and we figured another baby would fill the void.”

My jaw dropped. "Wow... Okay. Congratulations, I guess.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. They were so excited, but I felt a weird mixture of emotions. A little part of me felt left behind.

Mom, clearly sensing my hesitation, smiled warmly at me. “And just so you know, no kids until you’re thirty.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? You’re telling me I can’t have kids until I’m thirty?”

“Exactly,” she said, nodding like she had just solved the world’s problems. “You can date, but no kids.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, what if I get married before I’m thirty? Can I have kids then?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Of course. But I expect you to have fun with your husband. Enjoy the sex, walk around naked in the house, have sex everywhere—then, when you’re ready, you can have kids.”

“Can we please change the topic?” Dad asked, his face flushed. He was clearly done with the awkwardness.

“Thank you,” I said, grateful for the change of subject. We ended up chatting about random things: work, my studies, and a little gossip. I felt the tension in the air lift, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

But still, something was nagging at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Despite all the distractions and the comforting presence of my parents, a part of me still felt like I was being watched.

It wasn’t just paranoia anymore. I knew it, deep down. The fear I’d been feeling for days hadn’t just disappeared. It was still there, lurking in the back of my mind, waiting to resurface.

No matter how much I tried to focus on my family, the nagging feeling wouldn't go away. It was like I couldn’t fully relax, couldn’t completely trust the world around me. Every creak of the house, every shadow in the corner of my eye, made my heart race. It was impossible to shake the feeling that I wasn’t safe anymore.

And just like that, I knew—whatever was going on, it wasn’t over.