But when I returned, Sophie ran to me and clung tightly. Her voice was small when she said, “Daddy… new mom is different when you’re gone.”
I paused, unsure of what to make of it.
“She goes into the attic and locks the door,” Sophie said. “She doesn’t let me in. She gets upset more often. And even when I do everything right, no ice cream.”
That concerned me. Sophie wasn’t one to make things up. I had noticed Amelia spending more time in the attic, but I hadn’t thought much of it. When I had asked, she simply said she was organizing things.
That evening, I didn’t bring it up right away. I spent time with Sophie, playing and helping her settle in for the night. But later, I found her quietly standing outside the attic door, her small hand resting on the knob.
“What’s in there?” she asked.
I gave her a gentle smile and told her not to worry. But the question stuck with me.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Around midnight, Amelia got out of bed and walked toward the attic. I followed quietly. She left the door slightly open, so I peeked in—and what I saw stopped me in my tracks.
The attic had been completely transformed. Fairy lights sparkled across the ceiling. A cozy reading nook sat by the window. Shelves overflowed with children’s books. A tiny table was set for tea with porcelain cups. It looked like a dream—soft, magical, peaceful.
Amelia turned and gasped. “I was trying to finish it as a surprise,” she said. “For Sophie.”
I stepped in, moved. “It’s beautiful. But… why all the secrecy? And Sophie said you’ve been stricter lately.”
Her expression softened. “I thought I was helping. I didn’t want to replace Sarah—I know I can’t—but I wanted to be someone Sophie could count on. I guess I was trying so hard to be the perfect mom, I forgot the most important part—just being there.”
She looked around the room, then back at me. “My own mom was strict. Everything had to be just right. I think I slipped into that without realizing.”
“You don’t need to be perfect,” I told her. “You just need to be present.”
The next night, we brought Sophie to the attic. Amelia knelt beside her and said gently, “I’m sorry for being too strict. I forgot what really matters. Can I show you something?”
Sophie stepped inside and gasped. “Is this for me?”
“All of it,” Amelia said, smiling. “And from now on, we’ll do things together. Even cleaning. And maybe, sometimes… ice cream after bedtime stories?”
Sophie nodded, then hugged her tightly. “Thank you, new mommy. I love it.”
Later that night, as I tucked Sophie into bed, she whispered, “New mom’s not scary. She’s nice now.”
That’s when I knew—we were okay.
Our path hasn’t been perfect. We’ve stumbled, we’ve learned. But that attic, filled with books and fairy lights and second chances, became the heart of our healing. And in the quiet moments that followed—reading together, sharing cookies, laughing—we discovered something deeper than perfection: a love that grows stronger every day.
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