Chapter 4

Sophie woke up in Emily's arms.

She rubbed her sleepy eyes, spotted me sitting on the floor, and called out softly, "Aunt Charlie."

I didn't answer.

She called out again, "Aunt Charlie, are you crying?"

That was when I realized my face was wet.

I wiped it away, trying to keep my voice steady. "No."

Sophie was wriggling, trying to get down, but Emily wouldn't let her go.

She looked at Michael, her face full of disappointment. "Daddy, I want Aunt Charlie to hold me."

Michael immediately turned to me.

His eyes were almost begging. "Charlie, look, Sophie really likes you."

My stomach twisted.

Even now, he was still pushing me to compromise.

Michael crouched down, lowering his voice. "I messed up, but Sophie didn't do anything wrong. She's always loved you, and you've always treated her like your own daughter. Can we please not drag her into this?"

"Michael, do you really think that if you use Sophie to make me forgive you, I'll let everything slide?" I asked.

Michael stayed silent.

Emily shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Charlie, that's not what we meant."

"Then what do you mean?" I asked.

I stood up, slamming the medical record down on the table, page by page. "For three years, I went with her to every prenatal checkup, stayed by her side through labor and delivery, and watched Sophie grow up.

"You made me the 'godmother,' made me believe I mattered to you.

"Meanwhile, Michael handed me a fake infertility report and had me consoling him instead.

"In the end, I lost any chance to be a mom myself, while I was the one buying dresses for your daughter, pulling all-nighters in the ER, and celebrating her birthdays."

My voice finally cracked.

"Emily, Michael, were you really worried about me getting hurt, or were you scared I wouldn't love Sophie enough?" I demanded.

Emily was left speechless.

Michael pressed his fingers to his forehead to soothe a headache, his patience finally snapping. "Charlie, don't be so harsh."

I let out a bitter laugh.

Funny how people can be sometimes.

Even now, I could almost hear something inside me quietly snapping.

Back then, whenever I cried, he'd always be there to comfort me.

Now, only for asking for the truth, he thought I was being too harsh.

"Is it my words that are harsh, or is it what you've done?" I shot back.

Michael's face turned cold. "What's done is done, and Sophie's already three. Stirring things up now won't do anyone any good."

"Anyone? Or you and Emily?" I pressed, my voice sharp.

"Everyone," he replied.

"Does that include me?" I asked.

Michael didn't answer.

I nodded, my voice flat. "Got it."

Of course, I wasn't included.

If I were, they wouldn't have kept it from me for three years.

They wouldn't have let me comb through adoption files, making notes page after page.

They wouldn't have handed me the surgical report like it was a ticket to their own tragedy, expecting me to play along.

Emily suddenly sat down beside the sofa, clutching Sophie so tight her shoulders were shaking. "Charlie, I really can't bear to lose you. Sophie can't either. Didn't you always say she was your daughter?"

I glanced at Sophie.

She was curled up in Emily's arms, her eyes all red and swollen, totally lost about what was happening.

I couldn't bring myself to hate her.

But reaching out to hold her like I used to. I also couldn't do it anymore.

Because every time I looked at her, I'd think of Michael's dimples, Emily grabbing my hand outside the delivery room.

And I'd think of how they nudged me, step by step, into being the most compliant pawn in their scheme.

I used to really love Sophie.

But now, that wasn't happening.

I walked over to the coffee table and grabbed the stack of adoption papers.

The pages were worn, dog-eared, and covered with my meticulous notes.

Age-appropriate child.

Family environment.

Psychological evaluation.

Joint consent from both parents.

I took it all so seriously, but it was almost pathetic.

I even considered keeping Sophie's old baby clothes, so my own kid could have something to remember.

Now, all those hopes felt like nothing but a pile of soggy paper.

They didn't even need a fire. They were already falling apart on their own.

I closed the adoption papers and tossed them straight into the trash.

Michael called out softly, "Charlie."

I ignored him and headed into the study.

I opened my laptop and downloaded a divorce agreement template as fast as I could.

With every word I typed, the living room behind me got quieter and quieter.

Michael stood in the doorway, watching me print out the document. "What are you printing?"

The printer started up right away.

One page.

Then another.

The sound of the pages coming out was especially clear in the middle of the night.

I picked up the stack of papers and handed them over to him.

Divorce papers.

Michael didn't take them.

He stared at the title for a long time before finally saying, "Charlie, don't do this."

"I'm perfectly clear-headed," I replied.

Emily's voice trembled. "Charlie, please, don't do this. It's Sophie's birthday."

"So what? Am I supposed to make a wish for your happy little family?" I shot back.

Emily was left speechless.

Michael reached out and took the agreement, but didn't open it.

He pressed the stack of papers down on the table, his voice barely holding back his anger. "I'm not signing this."

"Fine, don't sign. If we can't settle this, I'll take it to court," I replied.

His face went completely cold. "Do you really have to push things this far?"

I met his gaze. "Michael, you guys are the ones who pushed it to this point."

He stared at me.

The guilt in his eyes faded away, replaced by the offended anger of someone who thought they'd been wronged.