December 18th, 1804
Paris, France
I sat at the small table in the bakery, the one usually reserved for customers who decided to eat in the shop, waiting for the man I knew as my father to return from the market. My fingers clutched my locket.
The door opened and light flooded the shop. My father walked in. He was a round man, always laughing and smiling despite the dark world that swirled around him. He was different from my step-mother in every way possible. I could be leaving her soon. But I'd also be leaving him.
"Sophie," he cheered as he walked in. A sack of flour was slung over his shoulder.
"Papa," I said. "Can we speak?"
"Of course!" He did not seem to notice my dejected tone.
"Papa, this is serious," I said. He turned around, dropping the sack of flour.
"What is it?"
"A man came today. He said his name was Louis and that he was my brother," I said. His lips, once smiling, were pressed together in a tight line.
"He asked you to go with him, did he not?"
I nodded.
"Well, you better listen to him. Your brother is wiser than me," he said. The sack was back in his strong arms and he was back to work.
"Papa, how could you not have told me?"
"I was instructed not to! When the king comes to your shop and tells you to take his baby, you do it! If he tells you not to tell his daughter she's adopted, you do not do it!"
"I understand, papa," I said, even though I really didn't. Hearing him confirm Louis' claims made it all the more real.
"So you will be leaving us this evening?"
"Yes, I suppose I must if I'm in danger. I still don't understand what danger that is though. Why are you so okay with this?"
"I'm not," he said. "But I know my duty to my country or at least the country I used to know. Go pack up."
"You will be okay?" I asked.
"I am a grown man," he said. "I can survive without you, Sophie. But I will miss you."
"I'll miss you too, papa," I said. This had all happened so terribly fast. I stood from the table. It all felt like a dream. I was finally realizing what I was about to do. I was going to leave home with a man, claiming to be my brother, whom I barely knew.
The hand that clasped my locket was shaking, involuntarily.
I walked up the steps. I didn't own much. I bundled up my three dresses and placed my extra pair of slippers on top. I wrapped a cloak around me since the Parisian air was chilly in December.
I went back down the steep steps. Papa was placing a few loaves in the brick oven, finishing up the work I had neglected to do.
The door opened as my foot landed on the bottom step.
A flurry of snow entered before a man in a top hat did. He took it off with a large sweeping gesture.
"I'm looking for a Miss Sophie," he said. Papa looked at me. This man looked suspicious and dark with a regal air to him.
"I'm sorry, she's not in, good sir," Papa said.
"Then who is this?" the man asked, gesturing to me.
"Her name is Aida," Papa said. "My wife's daughter."
My step-mother didn't have any children.
