Chapter 3
When I left Emily's place, Sophie was still crying in her room.
She was sobbing, calling out "Aunt Charlie." and "Daddy." over and over.
Those two cries twisted together like a tangled ball of yarn, squeezing my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
Before I left, I grabbed the cake from the entryway table.
That surprise didn't matter to anyone anymore, but I wasn't about to leave the last piece of my heart in their house.
Michael chased after me to the elevator, blocking the doors with his hand. "Charlie, don't lose your head. There's a reason for all this."
I looked up at him. "I thought you were working late tonight?"
He paused.
I pressed, "So your 'overtime' was at Emily's place, throwing a birthday party for Sophie?"
Michael's voice was tight. "It's Sophie's birthday. She's been begging me to blow out the candles with her. I only..."
"Only what?" I interrupted him.
I glanced at the pink apron still tied around his waist. "So you finished your 'overtime' and decided to moonlight as her dad?"
Michael went silent.
The elevator doors pinched his hand, then sprang open again.
He didn't even flinch, kept blocking the way. "Charlie, don't take it out on Sophie. She's innocent."
"Of course she's innocent," I said.
"So what? Because she's innocent, does that mean I deserve to be lied to by you guys?" I shot back.
Michael frowned. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?" I demanded.
"You want me to keep being her godmother, keep pitying her, keep acting like she's some sad kid with no dad, while you sneak from my place to hers every day, playing the secret dad?" I snapped.
He finally looked genuinely awkward.
"I can change...," Michael said, almost desperate.
"What? Stop seeing her altogether? Or maybe you'll start scheduling your daddy visits and get my approval every time you want to play father?" I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
He had nothing to say.
Right then, I felt like there was no point anymore.
When he was still lying, at least he bothered to make up a story.
Now that the truth was out, all he had were those tired excuses: "I love you," "I had no choice," "the kid's innocent."
Every single one of them was so played out.
I jabbed the close button.
Michael tried to reach in, but I said coldly, "Don't make me say something harsh in front of Sophie."
He stopped.
The elevator doors slowly closed.
At the very last second, I saw Emily running out of the house, Sophie in her arms.
Sophie clung to her shoulder, her face streaked with tears. "Daddy."
Michael instantly turned around.
That look told me everything, more than any excuse ever could.
It finally hit me. All those late nights at work, all those business dinners, all those last-minute emergencies were never an accident.
Every single time, it was a deliberate move on his part.
When I got home, the living room lights were still on.
The coffee table was covered with adoption paperwork, and my unfinished notes, sitting there, were right beside it.
The first page said: [The applying family must have joint consent from both parents.]
I stared at that line for ages: joint consent from both parents.
But in this marriage, I was the only one who actually cared about building a real family.
I went into the study to look for our family documents.
When I pulled open the drawer, a brown paper bag fell out.
The hospital's name was printed on the bag.
I recognized that hospital.
That was where Michael got his medical report.
I crouched down and opened the bag.
Inside, it wasn't only a single report. There were several documents stacked together.
Semen test results, follow-up notes, an anesthesia consent, and a surgical consent form. All mixed in, like pieces of a puzzle I never wanted to solve.
When my gaze stopped at the surgery name, a cold numbness swept through my limbs.
Bilateral vasectomy. The words hit me like a slap.
The date was three years ago, seventeen days after Sophie was born.
I gripped the paper so tight the edge dug into my fingertips, making them ache.
He wasn't sick, nor was he cursed by fate. He'd walked into that operating room of his own free will, personally severing any chance for him and me to have a child together.
All he ever showed me was a single page from a post-op checkup.
No sperm detected.
He cut out everything before that, only left me with the one line that made him look helpless and innocent, the one that would tug at my heart.
I sat on the study floor, and suddenly that night came rushing back to me.
He held me tight, his voice trembling.
He said, "Charlie, I'm sorry."
That much was true.
But the ways he hurt me were so much more than I ever knew.
At the very bottom of the bag, there was a paternity test.
[Client: Michael Lane.
[Conclusion: Confirmed that Michael Lane is the biological father of Sophie Harper.
[Probability of paternity: 99.99%.]
I stared at the name "Sophie Harper" and almost let out a bitter laugh.
Sophie.
Sophie Harper.
I was the one who gave her that name.
Back then, Emily had given birth. She was lying weak in the hospital bed, clutching my hand and said, "Charlie, will you name the baby for me?"
I looked at the tiny, wrinkled newborn swaddled up and said, "She's so little and soft. Let's call her Sophie."
She was sobbing hard, but she said yes right away.
I ended up crying too, thinking it was the hormones after giving birth.
Back then, I was crying but still trying to cheer her up. "You were the one who wanted me to name her, you know. If you end up hating it, you can't blame me."
She burst out laughing, squeezed my hand, and said with conviction, "I won't regret it."
Now, thinking back, it was impossible to tell if the tears in that hospital room were for her or for me, or maybe we were both putting on a show for each other.
I was still sitting on the floor when the door lock clicked.
Michael pushed the door open, saw the medical record in my hand, and stopped in his tracks.
Emily followed him, holding Sophie, who had cried herself to sleep.
It was so good to have them here.
The whole family had rushed over in the middle of the night to come to my rescue.
Michael's voice was tight. "Charlie, listen to me."
I held up the surgical consent form. "You got a vasectomy."
This wasn't a question.
It was a statement.
Emily took a half-step back.
Michael swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Only after a lengthy pause did he manage to utter, "It can be reversed."
His voice was barely above a whisper, like he thought it was some mistake you could undo with a single click.
"Why?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Emily suddenly burst into tears, her voice shaking. "I begged him to do it."
She hugged Sophie even tighter, her voice trembling, words stumbling out between sobs.
"When Sophie was first born, I was falling apart," she said.
"I was so scared that if he ever had another biological child, he'd stop caring about Sophie. I was terrified, Charlie. I never meant to hurt you. I only wanted Sophie to have some security."
I was silent for a long time after hearing that.
Then I asked her, "So your fear meant I had to give up having my own kids?"
Emily shook her head frantically. "No, it's not permanent. You can still have kids, it can be reversed."
I cut her off. "Then why didn't you do anything about it for three years?"
No one said a word.
They were all tangled up in their own worries.
Michael was scared Emily would fall apart.
Emily was terrified Sophie would be pushed aside.
They were afraid of everything, except the one thing that mattered.
Not one of them ever stopped to think about how much it would hurt me if I found out.
Because in their eyes, I was the easiest to keep happy. Even if I found out, they knew I'd never actually walk away.