Chapter 3
I was about to walk out.
But Jonathan suddenly pulled a folder from his drawer.
"The wedding goes ahead as planned," he said.
"The prenup's done."
"Sign it, and we'll get married on the eighth."
I didn't reach for it.
His tone softened a bit.
"Olivia, haven't you always wanted to marry me?"
I looked down at the folder.
Suddenly, some words lingered in my head.
'Jonathan, do you really think something that comes too late can still count as compensation?' yet, I didn't spoke them out.
Instead, I said, "My mom wants to see you and Sophie before her surgery. Can you come tomorrow afternoon?"
He paused for a couple of seconds.
"Okay," he said.
"I'll bring Sophie."
I looked at him.
"Don't lie to her," I said.
Jonathan frowned.
"Olivia, I'm not that childish," he said.
But it wasn't until later that I understood.
He wasn't just being childish.
He simply never gave a damn about me or my mom waiting for him.
I went to pick up Sophie from kindergarten.
As soon as she saw me, she asked, "Mommy, where's Aunt Emily?"
I crouched down to her level.
"Mommy's picking you up today," I told her.
Sophie's face fell.
"But Aunt Emily said she was taking me and Charlie to a baking class today," she said.
Charlie was Emily's son.
I took her backpack strap in my hand.
"Grandma's having surgery tomorrow, and she wants to see you today. How about we go to the hospital, okay?"
Sophie immediately stepped back. "No," she said.
"The hospital smells like chemicals. It's so gross," she complained.
I took a deep breath and tried to stay patient.
"Grandma's sick, and she really misses you," I said.
"When you were little and had pneumonia, Grandma stayed up all night holding you in the hospital hallway."
Sophie frowned.
"I don't remember," she said.
She glanced down at her shiny little shoes and whispered, "Aunt Emily said sick old people have germs."
"What if Grandma makes me sick?" she asked quietly.
"Her clothes are so old. I don't want my classmates to see her."
"Aunt Emily said I'm a Ford, so I shouldn't go to dirty places," she added.
My blood ran cold.
"Sophie Ford," I said.
It was the first time I'd ever called her by her full name.
Sophie flinched, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Mommy, why are you so mean to me?" Sophie burst into tears.
She whimpered, "I don't like you when you're like this."
In that moment, it felt like my heart was being crushed in someone's hand.
I carried her for ten months, went through all that pain just to bring her into this world.
I almost died on the operating table from postpartum hemorrhage.
I soothed her to sleep, fed her, taught her to say her first words.
But now, she was standing in front of me, looking down on my mom for being poor, old, and dirty.
Jonathan's cold, heavy voice came from behind me.
"Sophie, apologize," he said.
Sophie started crying even harder.
Jonathan glanced at me, his expression souring.
"I didn't realize Emily was filling her head with that," he said.
I stood up.
"Forget it, there's no need to apologize," I said.
Really, there's no need.
A five-year-old doesn't just turn out like this on her own.
Someone else put those thorns in her.
And Jonathan just let it happen.