The first time I laid eyes on Sophie, she ran straight into my arms.
She was tiny, with big brown eyes and untamed curls, and she smelled of baby shampoo and fresh grass. She clung to me as if she already knew we belonged to each other.
Claire and I had fought for this moment. Years of failed pregnancies and endless heartbreak had led us here. When we chose adoption, the waiting process had been grueling—paperwork, interviews, home visits—but now, finally, we had our daughter.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” the social worker, Karen, asked.
She watched us carefully, her hands resting on a thick folder. Sophie sat on my lap, absentmindedly playing with my wedding ring, humming softly.
“Of course,” Claire said with confidence. “She’s ours.”
Karen hesitated, studying us both. She had likely seen families make promises only to break them.
“I believe you,” she said. “But adoption isn’t just about love—it’s a commitment. Sophie has had a difficult start in life. She will test you, push limits, even act out. Not to be difficult, but because she’s a child who needs security. Are you prepared for that?”
Claire reached for my hand. “We know,” she said, then turned to Sophie with a warm smile. Sophie beamed back.
“She’s perfect,” Claire added.
Karen nodded. “Then congratulations, Claire and Simon. You’re officially parents.”
Something shifted inside me. This was the beginning of our forever.
The moment I stepped through the front door weeks later, I knew something was wrong. The house was unnaturally quiet. Then, out of nowhere, Sophie ran into me, wrapping her small arms around my legs.
“I don’t want to leave, Daddy,” she whimpered.
I frowned, kneeling to her level. “Leave where, sweetheart?”
Her lip quivered. “I don’t wanna go away. I wanna stay with you and Mommy.”
A chill crept up my spine. Where had she heard such a thing? Sophie was too young for school, spending her days at home with Claire or our mothers. Who would have said something like that?
“That won’t happen,” I reassured her. “You’re home now.”
Then Claire stepped into the hallway, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her expression was cold, unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes had changed. There was a distance in them, as if she was no longer here with us.
“Simon, we need to talk,” she said.
I glanced at Sophie, feeling her tiny fingers grip my shirt like I was her lifeline. “Why is she saying she has to leave?” I asked, my voice sharp.
Claire’s jaw clenched. “Send her to her room. Now, Simon.”
I stroked Sophie’s back. “Sweetheart, go play for a little while, okay? I’ll come get you for dinner.”
She hesitated, her heart pounding against mine, but finally nodded and walked away. Once her door clicked shut, Claire spoke.
“We need to give her back.”
I stared at her, my stomach twisting. “What did you just say?”
Claire’s arms tightened. “I can’t do this. She’s ruining everything, Simon. My books, my files—she even ruined my wedding dress.”
“What are you talking about?”
Claire exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I had it out earlier. She saw me holding it and called it a princess dress. She asked to touch it. And before I even realized—” she let out a humorless laugh, “—her hands were covered in paint. Bright blue handprints. All over the dress.”
I could picture Sophie’s excitement, her awe. My heart ached.
“She didn’t mean to,” I said gently.
“You don’t know that!” Claire snapped. “She’s manipulative, Simon. She wants you all to herself.”
I took a step back, shaken. “Do you hear yourself?”
Claire’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You always wanted this more than I did.”
The words hit like a slap. Hadn’t she been the one to push for adoption? Hadn’t she cried tears of joy when we brought Sophie home? I searched her face for the woman I once knew—the woman who had promised Sophie a forever home.
“You don’t mean this,” I said. “You’re overwhelmed. It’s an adjustment. Sophie is just testing boundaries—”
Claire cut me off, her voice razor-sharp. “Either she goes, or I do.”
I froze. My wife or my child?
Claire’s expression was unwavering, like she had already made peace with her decision. She expected me to choose her.
But how could I? Sophie was my daughter now. I had made a promise.
“I won’t destroy a child’s life,” I said, my voice steady. “She’s staying.”
Claire’s mouth fell open. “You’re choosing her over me?”
“She’s not a choice. She’s my daughter.”
A sharp, disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. “You think you’re a hero? That I’m a monster?”
I didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say.
Claire stormed past me, grabbed her keys, and slammed the door behind her. The sound of her car tearing down the driveway echoed into the night.
Three weeks later, I sat across from her in a sterile mediation room. The air smelled of cheap air freshener and stale coffee. Sophie was at home with my mother, happily decorating cookies.
Claire sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap. She was composed, polished, her lips painted soft pink. But her regret felt rehearsed, like she had practiced it in the mirror.
“I made a mistake,” she said. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”
I remained silent. The mediator, Ellen, glanced between us, pen poised over her notepad.
“I let fear get the best of me,” Claire continued. “But I’ve had time to think. I want to come home. I want to fix us.”
I looked at her. “Fix what?”
She had looked at a four-year-old child and seen a threat. She had given me an ultimatum, treating Sophie like something disposable. Now, because she was lonely, she wanted to undo it all?
“You didn’t just leave me, Claire,” I said. “You left her.”
“I was overwhelmed—” she started.
“We both were,” I interrupted. “But I didn’t walk away.”
Her lips parted, but I wasn’t finished.
“Do you know what she did after you left?” My voice wavered. “She cried herself to sleep for weeks. She woke up at night calling for you. She thought she had done something wrong.”
Claire’s eyes filled with tears.
I shook my head. “You broke her. And I won’t let you do it again.”
Silence filled the room.
The mediator cleared her throat. “Simon, to clarify—you’re saying reconciliation is not an option?”
I met her gaze. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I still love you,” Claire whispered.
“I don’t love you anymore,” I replied. The truth was final. Cold.
One year later, Sophie still flinches at loud voices. She still hesitates before calling me “Daddy.” But she’s laughing more now. She’s lighter. She’s learning to trust in love that doesn’t leave.
Tonight, as I tucked her in, she curled against me, gripping my fingers.
“You won’t leave me, Daddy?”
“Never,” I promised, kissing her forehead.
She sighed, her little body finally at ease.
Safe. Home.
