The first time I saw Sophie, she ran straight into my arms.

She was small, all wide brown eyes and wild curls, smelling of baby shampoo and fresh grass. She clung to me like she had already decided I was hers, as if she somehow knew this was home.

Claire and I had fought for this moment. Years of failed pregnancies. Years of heartbreak. When we turned to adoption, the wait had been agonizing—months of paperwork, home visits, interviews. And now, here we were, sitting across from a social worker with our daughter on my lap.

“You’re sure about this?” Karen asked, her hands resting on a thick folder.

Sophie was playing with my wedding ring, humming softly. Claire, sitting beside me, reached for my hand and squeezed.

“Of course,” she said, her voice steady. “She’s ours.”

Karen nodded but didn’t look convinced. Maybe she had seen too many families promise the world and then give up when things got hard.

“I believe you,” she said carefully. “But adoption isn’t just about love. It’s about commitment. This is forever. Sophie has had a difficult start. She’ll push boundaries. She might test you. Are you prepared for that?”

Claire smiled. “She’s a perfect little angel.”

A hesitation, then Karen nodded. “Alright. Congratulations, Claire and Simon. You’re officially parents.”

Something shifted in my heart. This was the beginning of forever.

---

The moment I stepped through the front door, I knew something was wrong.

The house was too quiet. Then, out of nowhere, Sophie crashed into me, wrapping her arms around my legs, her tiny body trembling.

“I don’t want to leave, Daddy,” she whispered.

I knelt, brushing a curl from her face. “Leave where, sweetheart?”

Tears welled in her big brown eyes. “I don’t wanna go away again. I wanna stay with you and Mommy.”

A cold knot tightened in my stomach. Who had told her she had to leave? She was too little for school. She spent her days with Claire or our mothers when Claire had meetings.

I smoothed a hand over her back. “That won’t happen,” I promised. “You’re home now, my sweet girl.”

Then Claire stepped into the hallway.

Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her face blank, her gaze distant. Like something had already snapped inside her.

“Simon,” she said, her voice clipped. “We need to talk.”

I glanced down at Sophie. Her tiny fingers gripped my shirt like she was afraid I would disappear.

“Why is she saying she has to leave?” I demanded.

Claire’s jaw tightened. “Send her to her room.”

I held Sophie a little closer, then kissed her forehead. “Go play, sweetheart. I’ll come get you for dinner soon, okay?”

She hesitated, her small frame stiff with fear, but she nodded and padded down the hall. The moment her door clicked shut, Claire exhaled sharply.

“We need to give her back.”

My breath caught. “What?”

Claire crossed her arms even tighter. “I don’t want this anymore, Simon. She’s… she’s ruining everything! My books, my files, my clothes… she even ruined my wedding dress.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I had it out earlier. I was feeling nostalgic.” Her voice was laced with something bitter. “Sophie walked in while I was holding it. She called it a princess dress, wanted to touch it.”

A lump formed in my throat at the thought of her wonder.

“But,” Claire continued, her laugh sharp, humorless, “her hands were covered in paint. Bright blue handprints. All over the damn dress.”

“Claire, she didn’t do that to hurt you.”

“You don’t know that,” she snapped. “You don’t see it. She’s manipulative. She wants me gone so she can have you all to herself.”

I stared at her, horror spreading through my chest.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“You always wanted this more than I did,” she shot back.

It was a slap to the face.

Like she hadn’t been the one pushing for adoption, swearing it was what she wanted too. Like she hadn’t wept with joy the day we met Sophie, promising her a forever home.

“You don’t mean this,” I said quietly. “You’re just overwhelmed. It’s an adjustment. Like Karen said. Sophie is just testing boundaries—”

“Stop it, Simon,” she cut in, her voice like a blade. “Either she goes, or I do.”

I froze.

She wasn’t bluffing. She had walked into this conversation knowing she would leave me with no choice.

She had assumed she would win.

The woman who had fought for this adoption, who had held Sophie and whispered, You’re safe now. We love you so much, was gone. And in her place stood someone who saw a scared little girl as an inconvenience.

“I’m not going to destroy this child’s life,” I said, my voice steady. “She’s my daughter now.”

Claire’s mouth fell open. “You’re seriously choosing a stranger over me?”

“Stranger?” My voice rose. “She’s four years old, Claire. She’s been abandoned once before. I will not let it happen again.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “You think you’re some kind of hero? That I’m the villain for not wanting a child who—who…” Her words crumbled into a strangled sound.

I didn’t respond. Because there was nothing left to say.

Claire stormed past me, grabbed her keys, and slammed the door. The sound of her car screeching out of the driveway echoed through the night.

And just like that, she was gone.

---

Three weeks later, I sat across from Claire in a sterile office, the air thick with unspoken words. The mediator watched us carefully, pen poised over her notepad.

“I made a mistake,” Claire finally said. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Simon, I… I let fear get the best of me. I wasn’t ready. But I want to come home. I want to fix us.”

I stayed silent.

She had called Sophie manipulative. Had given me an ultimatum, as if a child was disposable.

And now, because she was lonely, because she regretted her choice, she wanted to erase it all?

“You didn’t just leave me, Claire,” I said. “You left her.”

She flinched. “I was overwhelmed—”

“We both were,” I cut in. “But I didn’t walk away.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but I wasn’t finished.

“Do you know what she did after you left? She cried herself to sleep. She woke up in the middle of the night, calling for you. She thought she did something wrong.”

Claire’s lower lip trembled. “Simon…”

I shook my head. “You broke her. And I won’t let you do it again.”

Ellen, the mediator, cleared her throat. “Simon, just to clarify—are you saying reconciliation is not an option?”

I turned to her.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Claire let out a quiet, broken sob.

“I still love you, Simon.”

I met her gaze, unwavering. “I don’t love you anymore.”

She had made her choice. And so had I.

---

One year later, Sophie still flinches at loud voices. She hesitates before calling me Daddy, like she’s afraid the word itself will make me disappear. She clings to me when she’s scared, when nightmares chase her into my room, when she loses sight of me in the store.

But she laughs more now. She’s lighter. She’s learning to trust in the kind of love that doesn’t leave.

Tonight, as I tucked her into bed, she curled against my chest, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine.

“You won’t leave me, Daddy?” she whispered.

“Never,” I promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She sighed, her body relaxing into mine.

Finally safe.

Finally home.