Something Always Brings Me Back to You

3) Old Wounds

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MAY 2008
Sophie's POV

"Just those, thanks." I placed my items at the cash register point. I was buying a pack of baby formula, a loaf of bread, and an orange juice box that was Mariana's favorite special treat, while balancing Mariana in my other arm.

While the cashier was tallying up my selections, I noticed that behind the counter there were some framed photos of Man United players with signatures printed, carelessly scribbled as though the players didn't really have time for it.

The man behind the counter must have noticed me staring at the photos, lost in thought, because after turning around to have a brief look at the collage himself, the middle aged man said, "Yeah, we're a regular shop for some players so we decided to start collecting signatures." He used his head to motion to the back wall covered with photos while continuing to scan my purchases.

I nodded my head before turning Mariana so she could see the photos and pointing towards the photo of her daddy. "Look who it is, baby girl." I bounced her up and down and she squealed and clapped. I smiled proudly at her, and kissed her forehead.

"You Ronaldo fans?" The man questioned.

"Uh, you could say that..." I trailed off and fussed over Mariana, trying to look busy because the question, for obvious reasons, made me uncomfortable.

"Yeah, we're great fans of him here. He's great. Great dedication." The man continued while placing my items inside a flimsy plastic bag.

My cheeks flared red and I bit my lip. "Yeah." I mumbled softly, while I reached for my tiny black leather purse.

"That'll be £3.15, please."

I fumbled around for the money, and found that I was mostly emptying my wallet.

"Eh, well, great on the pitch that is. Off is a different story, if I do say so myself." He continued, chuckling smugly to himself.

Suddenly my mood shifted. "You don't know him, so don't act like you do." I said swiftly, grabbing my bag and walking quickly out of the store.

As I walked out of the store, I found myself wondering: why did I defend him? And why was it so automatic?

--

"Look, baby girl." I pointed out some young kids playing football in a sandy park. She smiled and pointed, while speaking some gibberish. I grinned at her. She was so cute and made me so proud and happy every day that I was with her.

Suddenly, my phone rang. That was strange, because, not having many friends, I normally never got calls. I fumbled into the pockets of my old sweatshirt, while carefully balancing Mariana and opened the flip phone.
"Hello, this is Sophie." I spoke cheerfully.
"Sophie? This is you?"

"Hannah?" I was surprised to hear from Hannah. Between my intense relationship with Cristiano, to having Mariana and being banished into a life of poverty and embarrassment by my 'loved' ones, Hannah and I had fallen out of contact.

"Sophie! I'm so happy you picked up! It's been so long." she sounded happy.

I smiled at the sound of her voice. The voice of an old friend with whom you share good memories is that the feel of an old fleece or the smell of your grandmother's favorite dessert: always comforting and thankfully familiar.

"It has. Too long," I replied quickly.

"How is...um.. Maria?"

"Mariana." I swallowed. I was slightly surprised she didn't remember the name of her best friend's only child, her own godchild.