Karen, the social worker, rested her hands on a thick file, her gaze assessing. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her tone careful.
Sophie hummed softly, twisting the wedding ring I had slipped off my finger between her tiny fingers, utterly fascinated. Claire, sitting beside me, squeezed my hand. Her voice was steady, certain. “Absolutely. She’s ours.”
Karen nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. Perhaps she had seen too many families full of promises, only to watch them falter when reality set in.
“I believe you,” Karen said cautiously. “But adoption isn’t just about love. It’s about permanence. Sophie has had a difficult start. She’ll test boundaries. She’ll challenge you. Are you prepared for that?”
Claire smiled, her confidence unwavering. “She’s an absolute angel.”
Karen hesitated before nodding. “Alright. Congratulations, Claire and Simon. You’re officially parents.”
At that moment, something in me shifted. This was it. This was the beginning of forever.
The next evening, as I stepped through the front door, an unsettling silence greeted me. The house was too still, as if it had been holding its breath.
Then, Sophie ran into me, wrapping her tiny arms around my legs. Her small body trembled, and I crouched down, my heart pounding.
“I don’t want to leave, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but enough to break me.
I brushed a stray curl from her face, keeping my voice calm. “Leave where, sweetheart?”
Her big brown eyes filled with tears. “I don’t wanna go away again. I wanna stay with you and Mommy.”
A cold unease settled in my stomach. Who had told her she had to leave? Sophie was too young for school, and she spent her days with Claire or one of our mothers whenever Claire had meetings.
I smoothed a hand over her back, trying to soothe her. “That’s not going to happen,” I assured her gently. “This is your home now.”
Just then, Claire appeared in the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her face was unreadable, her eyes distant, as if she had already made some unspoken decision.
“Simon,” she said, her voice clipped. “We need to talk.”
I glanced down at Sophie, who clung to my shirt as if afraid I would vanish. I kissed her forehead. “Go play, sweetheart. I’ll come get you for dinner soon, okay?”
She hesitated, her body tense with fear, but she nodded and padded down the hall. The moment her door clicked shut, Claire let out a sharp breath.
“We need to send her back.”
The words struck me like a physical blow. “What?”
Her arms tightened around herself, her expression hard. “I don’t want this, Simon. She’s ruining everything—my books, my files, my clothes… she even ruined my wedding dress.”
I stared at her, stunned. “What are you talking about?”
“I had it out earlier, just reminiscing. She walked in and called it a princess dress, wanted to touch it.” Claire’s voice wavered between bitterness and frustration.
A lump formed in my throat as I pictured Sophie’s awe at the dress.
“But her hands…” Claire’s voice turned sharp. “They were covered in paint. Bright blue handprints all over the fabric.”
“She didn’t do that on purpose, Claire,” I said, trying to reason with her.
“You don’t know that,” she snapped. “She’s manipulative. She wants me gone so she can have you all to herself.”
A chill ran through me.
“Do you even hear yourself?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm.
Claire’s expression darkened. “You always wanted this more than I did.”
The words cut deep. Had she forgotten everything we’d been through? The endless nights of longing, the moment we held Sophie for the first time, the promises we made?
“You don’t mean this,” I said, my voice softer now. “You’re overwhelmed. It’s an adjustment. Like Karen said, she’s just testing limits—”
“Stop it, Simon.” Claire’s tone was sharp as a blade. “Either she goes, or I do.”
I stood frozen.
She wasn’t bluffing. She had already made up her mind. She thought I would choose her.
The woman who had fought for this adoption, who had held Sophie and whispered that she was safe, was gone. In her place stood someone who saw a frightened little girl as an obstacle rather than a child in need of love.
“I won’t do this to her,” I said, my voice unwavering. “She’s my daughter.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “You’re choosing a stranger over me?”
“A stranger?” I snapped, my anger bubbling over. “She’s four years old. She’s already been abandoned once. I will not let it happen again.”
Claire let out a bitter laugh. “You think you’re a hero? That I’m the villain for not wanting a child who—” Her voice faltered, breaking into something jagged and unreadable.
I didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say.
She stormed past me, grabbing her keys. The door slammed shut behind her, and seconds later, the roar of her car filled the night.
And just like that, she was gone.
Three weeks later, I sat across from Claire in a sterile office, tension hanging between us. A mediator watched us carefully, pen poised.
“I made a mistake,” Claire said, barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”
I exhaled, my chest tight.
“Simon, I let fear control me. I wasn’t ready. But I want to fix this. I want to come home.”
I stayed silent, unsure of what to say.
She had left me once—but worse, she had left Sophie.
“You didn’t just walk out on me,” I said evenly. “You walked out on her.”
She flinched. “I was overwhelmed—”
“We both were,” I interrupted. “But I stayed.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but I kept going.
“Do you know what she did after you left? She cried herself to sleep. She woke up in the night, calling for you. She thought she did something wrong.”
Claire’s lips trembled. “Simon…”
I shook my head. “You broke her trust. And I won’t let you do it again.”
The mediator cleared her throat. “Simon, to clarify—are you saying reconciliation is off the table?”
I looked at her, my decision final.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Claire let out a shaky breath, and I saw the realization dawn on her.
“I still love you, Simon,” she whispered.
I met her gaze without hesitation. “I don’t love you anymore.”
She had made her choice. And so had I.
A year later, Sophie still flinches at raised voices. She hesitates before calling me Daddy, as if afraid the word might make me disappear. She clings to me when she’s scared, when nightmares chase her into my room, when she loses sight of me in a crowd.
But she laughs more now. She’s lighter. She’s learning to believe in a love that stays.
That night, as I tucked her into bed, she curled against me, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine.
“You won’t leave me, Daddy?” she asked, her voice small.
“Never,” I promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She sighed, her body relaxing.
Finally safe.
Finally home.