I Humiliated My Poor Father to Fit in With My Wealthy Classmates, but Regretted It

The Blood on the Satin

When the rehearsal finally ended, the studio cleared out quickly. No one spoke to Sofia. She was left alone in the quiet room, the golden shoes still lying where they had fallen. Her anger had cooled, replaced by a heavy, hollow ache in her chest. She knelt down and picked up the shoes. Up close, they were breathtaking. The satin was of an incredibly high quality, and the stitching was so precise it looked almost machine-made. But Sofia knew better; her father was a traditional cobbler, one of the last of his kind.

As she turned the left shoe over, she noticed a dark, rusty stain on the inner lining. She touched it, her heart stopping. It was dried blood. A sense of dread washed over her. She shoved the shoes into her bag and ran out of the academy, ignoring the rain as she raced toward the old, run-down district where her father’s workshop was located.

The bell above the shop door chimed, but the small space was dark and silent. Her father wasn’t there. Sofia walked behind the counter, her eyes landing on her father’s workbench. Scattered across the worn wood were several unpaid medical bills and a final foreclosure notice on their tiny apartment. Next to them lay an open diary.

Sofia picked up the diary, her hands trembling as she read her father's neat, sloping handwriting from the night before:

"My hands are failing me. The arthritis is so bad now that I can barely hold the needle, and the doctor says I must stop working or lose all mobility. But Sofia needs her audition shoes. I cannot afford the professional ones, so I will make her a pair that will make her shine like the star she is. It takes hours, and my fingers bleed with every stitch, but seeing her smile will make all the pain worth it."

Tears blurred Sofia’s vision as the weight of her cruelty crushed her. Her father was sacrificing his remaining health for her, and she had thrown his sacrifice in the dirt.