Once her door closed, Claire spoke words I never expected to hear: “I don’t think I can do this. I’m struggling. I think we should reconsider the adoption.”
I was stunned. “She’s just a child, Claire. She’s still adjusting. She needs us.”
Claire looked away. “I’m overwhelmed. I didn’t expect it to be this hard.”
I knew then that something had changed. Claire was hurting, too, but I couldn’t turn my back on Sophie—not after everything.
When Claire gave me an ultimatum, I didn’t hesitate. “I’m staying,” I said. “Sophie is my daughter.”
Claire left that night. No dramatic exit—just silence and the sound of the front door closing behind her.
Weeks later, we met for mediation. Sophie was safe and happy at my mother’s house, decorating cookies and telling stories. Claire sat across from me, composed and calm. “I made a mistake,” she said. “I want to make things right.”
But I had changed. “You didn’t just leave me,” I told her. “You left her.”
When asked if we could fix things, I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’ve moved on.”
Claire quietly nodded, emotion in her eyes. “I still love you,” she whispered.
“I don’t,” I replied, and I meant it.
Now, a year later, Sophie is learning what safe love feels like. She still hesitates sometimes. Still flinches at sudden sounds. But she’s laughing again. She’s beginning to trust that love doesn’t have to leave.
Tonight, as I tucked her in, she rested her head on my chest and asked, “You’re not going anywhere, right, Daddy?”
“Never,” I said.
And I meant every word.