Chapter 2

Not long after the kids' room door closed, Emily came back out.

Now it was the three of us left in the living room.

Emily stood by the door, her eyes red and teary, looking like she'd been deeply wronged.

Back then, I would've handed her a tissue without thinking.

All these years, whenever she started crying, I'd panic.

When she got dumped, I sat with her outside the convenience store, drinking beer.

When she was pregnant, I took days off to go with her for checkups.

When she gave birth, I stayed up all night outside the delivery room.

When she said Sophie's father wouldn't take responsibility, I never even asked his name. I was scared I'd make things worse for her.

Back then, I thought I was being considerate.

Now, looking back, I was so considerate it was almost pathetic.

Emily stepped in front of me, her voice barely above a whisper. "Charlie, I'm sorry."

I asked, "How long has this been going on?"

Michael started to speak. "Charlie..."

I cut him off. "I'm asking how long has Sophie been calling you 'Daddy'?"

The living room went quiet for a few seconds.

Emily finally looked down, her voice barely a whisper. "Ever since she could talk."

I nodded.

Ever since she could talk.

Three whole years.

I pressed her again, "Three years ago, you said Sophie's father wouldn't admit it."

Emily looked away from me. "He really couldn't admit it."

I gave a bitter laugh. "Not being able to admit it and not wanting to, are those really the same thing?"

Emily had no answer.

Michael closed his eyes, his voice rough. "Sophie is my daughter."

When he said that, I didn't break down like I thought I would.

That shouting of "Daddy" at the entryway had already shattered whatever was left of my sanity.

Now it was simply the end of it all.

I turned to Michael. "So, that infertility report you showed me, what was that really about?"

Michael's face finally changed.

Emily's fingers also clenched involuntarily.

Honestly, their reaction now was way more genuine than when they confessed about Sophie.

Michael swallowed hard. "The report was real."

He paused for a long time before he finally managed to say, "Right now I'm infertile."

Right now.

Only for now.

That night flashed through my mind.

Michael came home with the medical report, dropped onto the couch, and sat there in silence.

I asked what was wrong. His eyes were red as he handed me the report, his voice barely more than a whisper, all cracked and broken.

He said, "Charlie, I'm sorry. I might not be able to give you a child."

My mind went totally blank.

He hugged me tight, kept saying, "If you want a kid, we can divorce."

I cried the whole night, and by morning my eyes were so swollen I could barely see. But I ended up comforting him instead: "It's okay. I don't need kids. As long as I have you, that's all I need."

After that, I removed the baby crib link from my favorites, canceled the fertility appointment I'd scheduled ahead of time, and deleted all the baby names I'd quietly written down in my phone.

Each time I deleted something, I'd remind myself, "It's fine. Only the two of us is still a family."

I gave him every bit of kindness I had, to protect his dignity.

But he took all that kindness and used it to hide his own sins.

I asked him, "Why didn't you ever tell me Sophie was your daughter back then?"

Michael stepped forward, sounding desperate. "I couldn't. You love kids so much. So I was scared it would break you."

I laughed bitterly. "So instead, you had me become her godmother?"

Emily started crying. "Charlie, I was so lost back then. I was pregnant and all alone, with no one to help me. I didn't know what to do."

I looked at her, my voice trembling. "Wasn't I there for you? Didn't I do everything I could to help?"

Her sobs caught in her throat.

I slowly listed everything I'd done for her. "I took time off work to go with you to your very first prenatal checkup. When you were so sick from morning sickness you couldn't eat, I brought you congee late at night.

"The day you gave birth, I was the one who handled the hospital paperwork outside the delivery room. When you couldn't produce enough milk, I ran across three blocks to buy you a breast pump

"When Sophie turned one month old, I bought her that gold bracelet for her wrist. When she was one and burning up with a fever, I held her all night in the ER."

Emily's shoulders slumped, like she'd been crushed.

Michael muttered, "Charlie, don't be like this."

"Like what?" I snapped.

I locked eyes with him, my voice cold and steady. "I never complained when I was doing all that for you, but now you can't even stand to hear me talk about it?"

Michael looked a little flustered. "I know you've been wronged. I'll compensate you."

Compensate.

He threw that word out again, like it was some magic fix.

As if saying it could turn three years of tears, all my delayed plans, and every time I told myself it was okay into something weightless, like it never mattered.

It was not something missing.

It was something broken.

Emily suddenly grabbed my hand.

Her fingers were ice-cold, and her voice trembled. "Charlie, I can't live without you."

That line always used to make me go soft.

Whenever she lost her job, got dumped, or fought with her family, she'd cling to me like this.

I used to think it was her depending on me.

But now I realized she'd gotten so used to leaning on me. It came to her as easily as breathing.

So easily that she could have me help her through morning sickness, and without a second thought, ask me to be the godmother to the daughter she had with my husband.

I slowly pulled my hand away. "Emily."

She stared at me, dazed.

I asked, "When you were helping me go through all those adoption papers, what was really on your mind?"

Emily's lips moved, but she couldn't get a word out.

I finished for her. "Did you pity me? My husband already has a daughter, and I'm out here desperately trying to adopt someone else's kid."

Emily's tears finally fell. "No, Charlie, I wanted you to have something to hold onto too."

I stared at her, my chest cold and numb. "So your idea of giving me something to hold onto was making me raise your kid for you?"

All the color drained from her face.