Chapter 3

By the next afternoon, Serena and Leo had been in our house less than twenty-four hours, but every room already felt altered.

Leo’s toys covered half of Sophie’s desk. Her art supplies had been pushed into a drawer. The journal lay near the edge, half-buried beneath a stack of coloring books.

Sophie picked it up carefully.

Serena appeared behind her. “Leo just needed somewhere to draw. I knew you wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Sophie looked at me but said nothing.

She no longer expected Arthur to defend what belonged to her.

That evening, Serena opened a box from an expensive bakery and arranged the cookies on the kitchen table as a treat.

Arthur was hanging decorations for Leo’s birthday the next day. He had remembered Leo’s favorite color, his favorite cartoon, and the exact kind of cake he wanted.

Sophie watched him tape up the banner without expression.

Then she placed her journal in the small suitcase beside her desk, as if she already understood that we would not be staying much longer.

One of the cookies was shaped like a star. She reached for it before I saw the crushed nuts along the edge.

She took one bite and froze.

“Mom…”

Her hand moved to her throat.

I knocked the cookie from her fingers and grabbed her emergency kit.

“She’s allergic to nuts!”

Arthur turned from the decorations. “She is?”

The question chilled me more than Serena’s carelessness.

After eight years of raising Sophie, he did not know the one thing that could kill her.

I administered the medication and held Sophie against me while her breathing slowly began to ease.

Leo had started crying in the hallway. Serena rushed to him.

“He thinks Sophie is dying,” she said. “Arthur, please take him outside. He’s terrified.”

Arthur looked between the children.

For one moment, I thought the sight of his daughter struggling for air would finally make the choice obvious.

“She has her medicine,” he said. “You know what to do.”

“Arthur, stay.”

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”

He took Leo’s hand and followed Serena out.

Sophie watched the door close.

She did not call after him.

I stayed beside her, counting every breath until the color began to return to her face.

Then I heard a heavy sound in the hallway.

Sophie had tried to stand. Now she was lying on the floor, her face flushed, her chest barely moving.

The reaction had returned.

I called Arthur first. He answered over the sound of Leo laughing and people talking nearby.

“Sophie can’t breathe,” I said. “Come back now.”

Silence.

Then: “Is she okay?”

Not Where are you? Not I’m coming.

Only a question designed to tell him whether returning was necessary.

“She’s your daughter, Arthur.”

“Serena and Leo are already upset. I can’t just abandon them in the middle of—”

I ended the call.

Then I called emergency services.

While the dispatcher confirmed our address, I opened my laptop with one shaking hand.

The divorce petition the attorney had prepared that morning was waiting on the screen.

For eight years, Sophie and I had waited for Arthur to choose us.

He had just given us the same answer again.

I completed the final field and pressed Submit.

DIVORCE PETITION FILED appeared on the screen.

Outside, a siren cut through the night.

It grew louder with every second.

Sophie’s fingers tightened weakly around mine.

“Mom…”

“I’m here.”

The red lights reached our windows.

Arthur still had not come home.