Isadora paused, just for a beat. Then her expression softened into something older, gentler. Something sisterly.
“Idiot,” she murmured. Then she pulled Sophie into a hug.
Her arms were warm, grounding. She stroked Sophie’s hair with slow, affectionate passes like she meant to comfort not just her but the child she used to be.
Now that Sophie thought about it, Isadora was older than her.
“You think you’re the only one who gets scared?” Isadora said quietly. “We all are. But when you really love someone, you try anyway. You let yourself be brave. Even knowing feelings can shift in a blink…you take the risk. Because love’s worth that.”
She tilted her head, giving Sophie a small, prompting smile. “What did he say—about your face?”
Sophie’s voice caught a little. “He said I’m the most beautiful person in the world.”
Isadora reeled back slightly, one hand to her forehead. “Whew. That’s a real man.” She fanned herself, flushed as if she were the one being courted. “Wow…”
Then, more gently, “You’re not very confident in yourself, are you?”
Sophie almost scoffed. “How could I be? I’ve been filthy, bumpy, brown, oozing pus and blood since I was small. My peers threw mud at me. My first love looked like a dead man walking when he found out we were engaged. You! Even you shrieked the first time you saw me!”
Isadora winced, eyes softening with guilt. “Yeah. I did. I’m sorry.”
She hugged Sophie tighter.
“You’ll get my juices on you,” Sophie muttered.
“I can always wipe it off,” Isadora said without missing a beat. “But I am sorry. Back then, I was so caught up in my own mess, I didn’t stop to understand yours. But I do now, Sophie. I do.”
She pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.
“You’re a busybody. Kind to a fault. Warm enough to light up a house. And you’re all that in spite of everything. In spite of the hand you were dealt. That’s something.”
Sophie didn’t speak.
“That girl at the inns’ row—Lily, was it? She really liked you. Same for that gatekeeper, that student, the greengrocer… They all looked at you the same way. With real concern. Real care.”
Still, silence.
“You’ve helped those people. Not just in the way you think, either. You helped them in a way that made them feel it. You made them want the best for you. That’s no small thing. And I know they’re not the only ones.”
“But…”
“No buts.”
Isadora’s voice had softened, but her gaze stayed firm, clear, and steady like someone teaching a young child the ways of life.
“Trust more, Sophie. Not everyone out there’s some bratty kid. Not everyone’s an idiot. The ones who’ve been hurt—they’re the ones who recognize hurt the most in others. That means you know better than most how wronged he felt. He’s not the one who did those cruel things to you. So maybe… Maybe you could give him a chance?”
There were tears in her eyes now.
“You were the one who told me to open my door. To let people in.” Isadora’s smile was tilted, fond, and a little wry. “Well, I did. Only old crows answered, but that’s beside the point. The point is…you made me see my dreams again.”
Her voice wavered. “I’m sure now. Certain. Beyond any shadow of a doubt—I’d never hit little Al again.”
She blinked the tears back. “And who made me sure of that?”
Her hand squeezed Sophie’s.
“You did.”
Isadora’s voice dropped to a whisper. “So why do I have to open my door while you sit there, too scared to open yours? He came knocking, didn’t he? And you love him, don’t you?”
The tears came quietly, sliding down her cheeks.
“Then let him in.”
A breath passed. A long, quiet breath, like the hush after a storm.
Sophie’s thoughts drifted.
They drifted to Kurt Ozhorn—and his jet-black eyes.
They’d looked at her with such seriousness. Such impossible kindness.
During their time together, had they ever strayed from her, even for a moment? Had he spoken a single word with flippancy, with anything less than unwavering sincerity?
No.
No, he hadn’t.
He’d conveyed his love with the full force of his truth.
And yet…
“I drove him away…”
Her voice cracked. The tears came again—fresh, shameful. Foolish.
Isadora gave a sad little smile. “You can still go apologize. Just say what you felt. That it happened too fast, that it scared you, but that you love him too. Just as much.”
She softened further. “I’m sure he’ll be over the moon.”
Sophie hesitated. “Are you sure he’ll forgive me?”
“Pretty sure,” Isadora said. “Because I think that man…might be an idiot too. Doesn’t he remind you of, um, you know—those?”
“Those?”
“You know, one of those men—the ones who show up out of nowhere, dressed in an all-white suit, carrying a hundred roses, ready to propose on one knee?”
She didn’t make it to the end of the sentence before bursting into laughter, and Sophie couldn’t help but smile herself.
“Please, no. That’d turn this comedy into a full-blown tragedy.”
Then she laughed, too, helplessly, and for a moment, the room was warm again.
Indeed, he was a man fit for those grand, outdated gestures of love—the kind that belonged in some dusty old romance serial, not real life. The kind that, if anyone actually tried it today, they’d look more like they were making a mockery of love than professing it.
Isadora was still laughing, wiping at her eyes. When the laughter finally ebbed, and just the faint trace of a smile remained, she stroked Sophie’s hair once more.
“When this is all over—whether you’re healed or not—go to him. Of course, I’d love for you to be healed. But he already said he’s fine with you just as you are, didn’t he? So that’s enough, isn’t it? It’s your turn now, sweetheart. Time to muster your courage.”
“Right,” Sophie said after a pause.
Ozhorn mustered up his courage.
He held me in his arms and conveyed his love for me.
“You’re very right,” she whispered again.
Her eyes fluttered shut. She tried to imagine it—really imagine it. If she told him the truth, would he be glad? If she asked for forgiveness, would he accept it? Would he laugh at her foolishness gently, lovingly?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
But in the end, it didn’t matter.
Healed or not, forgiven or not, she would open the door. This time, it was her turn to step up.
Bang! The door to the salon flew open. “Ms. Sophie!” A voice cried out.
They both turned. In the doorway stood Lily, a young man neither of them had seen before, and, of course, Martha, being dragged along after failing to stop them.
“I’ve brought him!” Lily cried out. “May I present the traveling apothecary, Mr. Ganpo!”
The man beside her—likely her fiancé, Thomar—shifted to the side, revealing someone on his back:
A tiny, wizened old man not entirely unlike a wrinkly cucumber.
He looked exactly like the sketch Isadora had drawn.